Ghost in the Machine
by palomino333
Summary: "Ariel, tell me, do I seem as if I am drifting?" At her stunned silence, Optimus elaborated, raising his servo, and clenching his fingers, "The Matrix of Leadership, this war, is it detaching me?" Radio-verse. Pre-series, runs to "Con Job."
1. Chapter 1

This was a different project unto itself. The entire fanfic is written, but it was too long to be a one-shot, so it will be posted in chapters. However, due to it being typed in a one-shot format, the story is still in slices. I had to build Ariel/Elita-One up from the ground as her own character in this universe. This fanfic will run from just before the Cybertronian Civil War, to the middle of it, and, finally, ahead to the _Transformers: Prime_ episode, "Con Job." I'll update this fanfic slowly, as while it is finished, I don't want to post it all together. The uncut version of this will be posted on A03.

A common criticism of Optimus Prime in _Transformers: Prime_ is that he comes off as bland, or boring. I wanted to address this in my own manner, displaying the more internally broken parts of himself, and humanizing him. He is my second favorite character in the series behind Arcee, and so it was fun to take him apart.

Inspiration for this fanfic: "Hero" by Lissie, and "Zombie" by The Pretty Reckless.

* * *

"Are you sure you wish to proceed?" Orion asked, his light shining along the empty the underground tunnel. He turned back to look at Ariel, who held a datapad close to her chassis in one servo, and a stylus in the other.

Ariel smiled at that. "Of course. As a scribe, I'm tasked to archive important events of Cybertronian history. You're offering me the opportunity to document a great event our own lifetimes. Why would I wish to refuse?"

Her words gave Orion pause. "I think you should be careful with who sees your written work. If it falls into the wrong servos, it may end this change before it has even begun."

Ariel off-lined her optics at the fear that drifted to her from her bondmate's spark. She voiced his concerns, lowering the stylus to her side. "So, we are flirting with treason."

He nodded. "However," he shrugged, and continued in a deadpan manner, "I suppose we could turn back, and pretend that these talks have never occurred. We'd continue to fulfill our functions to the letter, breed within our caste, and be upright members of Cybertronian society."

Ariel smirked, and leaned against the side wall. "Sounds dreadfully boring."

Orion Pax nodded his helm. "Of course, though if you wished only to find excitement in this, I would regret my decision of taking you with me." At Ariel's upraised servo, he continued, "But that is not the case."

She rose from the wall, and walked over to him. "If this Megatronus can, in fact, upset the order in which we have been ensconced for vorns, then it is worth listening to him. Onward, then?" He nodded, and led the way. She continued, following him, "It's strange how, despite us being the ones who write our history, no one is taking note of how we have fallen into a rut." Orion looked back over his shoulder as she continued, "If we continue in this manner, then Cybertron will not progress. You see the struggles the divide that the caste system has caused for the lower classes. Beyond that, however, if we continue to squeeze ourselves into singular castes, then we will be no better than functional machines."

"But would it be worth gambling our fates on the words of a gladiator? Who would listen to him?" He argued, folding his arms, "Why would it be worth the while of the other castes? Megatronus does not even own his frame."

Ariel was caught off-guard for a moment. The next, however, she narrowed her optics, and smiled at his challenge. "That is how the lower classes are viewed, yes, but I would like to note that most of our thinking has been based upon the upper classes only. Little consideration is afforded to lower classes, and so it has been a monologue for several vorns." Her expression hardened. "Do not mistake me. I do not desire for this new, second voice to supersede the first, rather for there to be balance."

"Do you expect that to happen immediately? Come on, Ariel, you aren't that naïve," he prodded.

"No, of course not," she replied, "but that change isn't coming quickly enough. When was the last time a figure from the lower classes was given a legitimate chance to air grievances before the Council?" Orion paused at that, and faced her directly, the tunnel behind him yawning off into the distance. "That concerns you the most, doesn't it?" She inquired quietly.

He nodded. "Perhaps it is because I am more used to having time to think and analyze what I have found. It's," he rubbed the back of his neck, "rather a clash, really, whenever I venture down here."

Ariel moodily tapped her stylus against the side of her leg. "I suppose we wouldn't truly be accepted, then. The caste system goes both ways, in that regard."

"Remember that well while you take your notes," he replied carefully. She nodded, and continued along after him.

Whatever Orion had told her about how Megatronus looked, little prepared her for the scarred, hulking gladiator that stood before her. Considerably dwarfed, in comparison, she held her ground, his shadow cast over her, and the sharper points of his frame standing out. Bearing a contradiction to that, however, was the comradely way in which he slapped Orion on the shoulder with a jovial greeting. Orion held out his arm, and indicated her. "As I have mentioned to you previously, I have brought my friend, Ariel, to begin the inscription of the coming new age." Ariel quietly took note of her reduction in station, at least to Megatronus's knowledge, and realized still how little Orion trusted the gladiator.

Megatronus held out a servo to her, greeting warmly, "Welcome, sister."

Ariel took it, and he gave her servo a firm shake before letting go. Caught off guard at the amount of power he placed into pumping her servo, she stumbled slightly, her right knee knocking into Orion's leg. Orion's servo shot out, and caught her shoulder. With a slight cough, she replied, "Pleasure's all mine, thank you."

"I trust that you will give a non-biased account of my words, scribe?" Megatronus inquired, tapping the back of her outheld datapad.

Ariel gave a firm nod. "Yes, certainly. I am recording what will, hopefully, be a key event in modern Cybetronian history."

"You flatter me," he replied, and turned to indicate the mech seated close beside him. The mech stood, the low lighting glinting over his visor. "Should you need any clarification, or merely desire to check for accuracy in your transcripts, my lieutenant Soundwave will assist you. His ability to record audio transmissions is unmatched." Soundwave folded his servos behind his back, and bowed to Ariel before sitting back down. "Now, I suggest you find your seats. I will be beginning soon." Megatronus turned away from them to head toward a raised platform.

Orion gestured for Ariel to follow him, and led her toward several raised recesses that had been formed into makeshift benches. Several Cybetronians had already sat down, or were finding places to sit. "Back row," he murmured, "We don't want to call attention to ourselves. Stay close to me. When I signal to leave, we go."

"I thought you were on good terms with him?" She inquired quietly.

"I am. You're not," he replied simply. Swallowing her pride, Ariel nodded, and kept pace.

That was, until a servo seized her ankle. She bit down on a cry as a voice whispered mockingly, "What's the matter, sweetspark, are you lost?" Ariel slowly turned to stare into the faceplate of a powerfully-built femme, her optics boring into hers. By the size of her arms alone, Ariel figured that she would have no problem snapping her leg in two. A self-satisfied grin was upon the femme's light purple faceplate. From just over the larger femme's shoulder glowed a red optic belonging to a hulking mech. The femme turned her helm. "What say you, Lugnut? I find her interest in Megatronus to be quite peculiar."

Whatever Lugnut's reply was, Ariel didn't pay attention to it. Grunting heavily, she attempted to twist her ankle in the femme's grip, but found it wouldn't budge. She drew back her other pede to kick her servo when Orion broke in warningly, "Strika, release her! She's with me!" Ariel felt his servo on her shoulder. If a fight was to break out in such an enclosed area, she figured Orion and herself probably wouldn't see the light of the next day.

Strika, however, leaned backward in a relaxed manner. Sarcasm dripped from her words as she replied, "Ah, Orion Pax returns from the high tower once more. Forgive me for not noticing the entrance of such an exalted one. And how nice, he has brought along a friend to gawk at us, as well!"

"We surely must be honored," Lugnut interjected.

"Surely," Strika agreed, leaning backward onto Lugnut's chassis, and crooking her wrist sideways. Ariel gave a sharp intake of breath at the pain, and dared not budge. If she moved against Strika, her ankle would snap.

"Strika," Orion hissed.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, I forgot," she released her grip upon Ariel's ankle, and the femme drew it backward, wincing at the throbbing pain. Strika gave a bored sigh. "Word to the wise, little one. You might want to bulk up a little, lest you roll and snap your ankle on those heel struts I hear are all the rage with femmes your age these days," she rolled optics, and continued in a self-indulgent manner, "Oh, and do also be careful while you are here. Not everyone is so laid back as my dear Lugnut and I." Lugnut stroked Strika's chassis at that.

"I'll keep that in mind," Ariel replied coldly, turning on her heel to walk away. Strika snorted as the quick movement put too much pressure on the scribe's still-smarting ankle, and nearly caused her to topple over. Grasping Orion's outstretched servo, she walked away in embarrassment.

"Best you not, sweetspark! I think walking is your priority!" Strika taunted after her.

"That went well," Ariel growled softly as she sat heavily down. Holding up her ankle in one hand, she twisted her pede experimentally, and winced.

"Are you all right?" Orion asked in a concerned tone, sitting down beside her.

She shrugged, and dropped her ankle. "Stings, but it could be worse. Mostly my pride's been wounded. I wasn't expecting your words to be put to truth so quickly."

He gave a sigh of relief at that. "You may find this strange, but Strika was sizing you up."

"Me?" Ariel repeated in surprise, "What threat could I pose to her?"

"You have the ability to return to a safe berth, and to walk about freely. She does not. Therefore, you have something she lacks." At Ariel's raised optic ridge, he concluded, "In a way, perhaps one that she does not consider, she does fear you."

"Even still, I want to spar with you more often," she muttered bitterly, glaring at the back of Strika's helm. "I do not wish to feel helpless again."

"I'll make time," he replied sincerely.

Folding her arms behind her helm, and leaning against the wall behind her, she appraised him with a sideways look. "I gather that your first impression here was rather similar." At his smirk, she figured that it was more so. "No wonder why you were so sore in the berth for a solar-week."

"Ariel," he grumbled in embarrassment, though more so over the fact that she could feel his slight arousal through the bond.

She grinned. "Oh, mute it. Personally, I enjoyed stroking you. You're quite sensitive in so many little places, you know."

"I'll gladly stroke your ankle if you'll kindly drop the subject," he offered.

Ariel winked. "Accepted." Turning her helm and dropping her arms, she inquired as she scanned over the gathered mechs and femmes, "Who here can you identify?"

"A few, but the number keeps growing. It's not necessarily helping that their backs are to us," he replied, but nevertheless picked out several. "You have already 'met' Strika and Lugnut. Similarly to us, they are bonded. Strika is the most powerful female gladiator in the pits of Kaon, while Lugnut, given the choice, would form a religion of his own in Megatronus's honor. The purple mech with the red optic," he gestured to the base of the platform, where said mech was speaking to Megatronus from, waving an arm animatedly (much to Ariel's disturbance, she realized that the arm ended in a gun), "is Shockwave, another of Megatronus's lieutenants. Unlike many gathered here, he's a scientist." He gestured to the corner, where a large purple mech shoved a red and black mech backward in annoyance. "Motormaster and Wildrider. Motormaster and I share the same alternate form, while Wildrider, as you can probably tell, is smaller. They frequently are paired together in tag team matches, but can little stand each other." A mech in the corner surveyed the scene with boredom, his chin braced upon the palm of one servo. "Hook is one of the more interesting mechs I've spoken with. He's often relegated to manual labor due to his build, but he has expressed the desire to become an architect."

"Specifically, he's someone you would desire to help," she waved her servo about, indicating the entirety of the room, "as you would anyone else here."

Orion nodded at that. "Which is why, during the next meeting, I will take my turn to speak, as well. Megatronus and I have come to an agreement that it is also time for me to voice my support." He placed his servo over hers.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Ariel reassured, stroking his fingers. Letting go, she picked up her stylus as Megatronus cleared his throat to bring the room to order.

XXXXXX

"I see Megatronus isn't the only mech you're giving attention to."

Ariel glanced up from her datapad, and felt her spark sink as Strika's optics bored into hers. She lowered her stylus to her side, point down. She'd taken the liberty to interview some of the attendees of Megatronus's speeches, those that would give a word, anyway, as to why they would support him. The number was quite low, so far being two. She'd been in the middle of proofreading one such statement. "I'm just conducting research for this event," Ariel explained, "I can even show you, if you want."

Strika, however, didn't bother to glance down at the datapad. Ariel tried not to swallow at that, as Orion was a distance off, talking with Megatronus and Shockwave before it would come time for him to ascend the platform. "What are you doing here?" Strika asked sharply.

"Excuse me?" Ariel asked, caught off guard.

"I said," her optics narrowed, "What are you doing here?" Ariel felt her energon run cold as Strika sat down upon the bench before hers. She flicked her gaze away for just a moment, and she knew immediately that Strika had caught the motion.

"This is my profession as a scribe," she held up the datapad for emphasis, and quickly retracted her servo as Strika attempted to swipe it from her. "Hey!"

"This is your pet project." Ariel noted the distaste in her voice. "What disgusts me is the sheer ignorance you have."

Ariel rose. "If you'll excuse me—"

Strika held out an arm, barring her path. "This is exactly the ignorance I am speaking of, Ariel. You will sit down." Ariel, a knot forming in her throat, slowly sat back down, unsure of what Strika was going to do. "You two think that you can speak for us, but that's more of an insult than you can ever imagine," Strika hissed, hitting her servo into the surface of her bench for emphasis, and causing a few mechs to turn at the sound. "How dare you think that you can do such a thing! You do not know the sheer amount of agony that we have endured for centuries." Ariel felt cold, as if she had drawn in upon her own frame, but she remained sitting straight up as Strika continued, "You know nothing of the pits, of having your own dignity violated, just so you could be upgraded. You know nothing of ripping a friend to pieces, because it was either her life, or yours. And you know nothing of nearly having your spark bond broken, multiple times, might I add, so your bondmate, despite the reason he may have given you for living, could be sold for spare parts." Strika had grown more aggressive in her tone, leaning her faceplate ever closer to Ariel's.

Ariel could only think to respond, "Lugnut's still with you, though."

Strika raised an optic ridge, and replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "Perceptive. Does it matter to you, the amount of pain our sparks were placed in, the sheer torture we were put through, to drive us apart? Of course not, when you're buried in your datapads." Leaning backward, she concluded, "And yet Megatronus allowed you two in, anyway. I suppose my bondmate is not quite correct in his zealotry for him, but at least Megatronus would truly care for our plight. You and Orion, I heavily doubt it." Rising, she ordered Ariel, "Delete those two entries, and don't you dare let me catch your pampered aft talking to one of us again." Spitting on the ground just before Ariel, she walked away.

Ariel stared quietly after her, and placed the pad to the side. Leaning forward on her knees, she tried to catch her breath. It stuck in her throat, however, when Strika's predatory gaze swung back to her, and she, much to her shame, deleted both entries.

XXXXXX

"I can't help but wonder," Optimus Prime began solemnly, "that my being chosen was nothing more than a political bid for power by the senators to further their own agendas. Even with their power virtually dissolved by my position, some would benefit from my being leader, while others would see me be deposed." He clenched his fist, and growled, "I am either a puppet to them, or a weakling. Pathetic."

Ariel sat behind her desk, her elbows propped upon it, and her servos folded, as she listened to her bondmate speak his mind. Upon the scribe's desk sat a stack of data pads, two dozen in all, detailing Megatronus's lectures, those she had been privy to, others she had managed to rip from Optimus's captured audio files during his days as a clerk, and others still that she had uncovered due to comparing her notes with Soundwave. Despite what she had managed to amass, Ariel couldn't help but feel like she blew it. Orion Pax's speeches, a stack only half as high, sat next to Megatronus's.

Her desk was simple, bearing a lamp and a few styluses. Two holophotos stood upon the desk, one of her and Orion—or should she call him Optimus now—in a botanical park near the Hall of Records, his arms around her as he held her from behind. The picture had been taken during their courtship. The other featured a shot of herself and Moonracer, a fellow scribe and friend, their arms linked as they balanced precariously on the top of the tower on which they worked, and leaving their other servos free to pose and wave at the camera. Moonracer had teased her that night, she had recalled, about being skittish of heights. A shelf held several datapads that she still had to edit, while on the wall stood a vintage poster calling for resistance against the Quintessons, featuring Cybertronians defiantly throwing off chains while a five-sided face leered down upon them.

Orion had been a big mech in his lifetime. She'd been taken aback upon first meeting him when dropping off one of her publications for the Hall of Records, her excitement curbed for a moment. However, when he spoke, and took the datapad from her, it was with gentleness, if not a little shyness, as well, despite that build. Now, he looked utterly powerful, and war-like. Ariel doubted little that he would prove a threat to Megatron. She remembered the tension she had felt, in the past, slowly mounting whenever she had attended the former gladiator's lectures with Orion. Had the two mechs in question felt it, as well, or had they simply ignored it until now? Whatever the case, she bit back a cry of anguish at picturing Megatron's claws slashing across Optimus's faceplate.

"But their opinions didn't matter to us in the past," she replied carefully, tilting her chin up, "We could have been executed for treason for so much as listening to Megatronus. You are no longer beholden to them."

He shook his helm. "If I don't respect the Council's opinion, I'll become nothing better than a dictator!" He sighed, immediately realizing how ridiculous his own point sounded. "Then again, Halogen is dead anyway. The only remaining power within my faction lies with Sentinel Zeta Prime, and myself. He is still missing. Megatron holds immense power over Cybertron, but never again will he look upon me as a brother."

Ariel sighed. "Two voices are speaking, but neither is listening."

Optimus stared out the window into the distance. Iacon was blazing with light, and confusion over the systematic shake-up, with newsfeeds going wild. Small fires sparked riots, while chants and slogans screamed above the sirens. "What will become of our world?" He asked out loud, "The possibilities are myriad, but," he tilted his helm, "I do not feel optimistic."

Ariel rose from her desk, and replied, "Then we must face the consequences together."

He turned at that, pain burning in his optics. "Ariel, are you sure? My mind, it has changed, you can see that already. And, you would share me with the Matrix of Leadership," he hesitated before continuing, stumbling over the first word, "I would understand if you desired to break our bond."

She placed one servo to her spark chamber, and held the other out to him. "By my choice, I remain with you, Optimus. I wouldn't leave you now, when you need someone at your side."

He shook his helm. "Please, don't feel obligated to me."

"Never," she dismissed flatly, "Put that from your mind immediately, Prime." He started at that, and Ariel continued in a gentler tone, "The Matrix of Leadership accepted you as its bearer for your own virtues," extending a servo, she placed it to the side of his faceplate, "Virtues which I was drawn to."

He leaned into it with a contented sigh, though she couldn't hold a smile at that, as she still felt his unease filtering through their bond. Upon feeling her helplessness, he grasped her servo, and lowered it in embarrassment. "But I am more, or rather, I was, more than my virtues. To laugh, to be moved by the immortal words of a tome, to enjoy the pleasure of another's frame…" He stroked her fingers at the latter, "Is what I fear losing most."

"You haven't, not yet," Ariel replied reassuringly.

With a still-unconvinced expression, he replied, "I just hope that day will be long in coming."


	2. Chapter 2

I referenced several pieces of the Aligned continuity in this chapter. Due to the Aligned continuity lack self-consistency, I'll list them here:

Megatron's axe: Megatron wields an axe in _Transformers: Exiles_. It is not seen in Prime, so I gave a reason for its disappearance.  
Megatron calling Optimus "librarian:" This happens often in _Transformers: Exiles._  
Kaon prison: This is a reference to a mission in the Autobot campaign of _War for Cybertron,_ where Optimus leads an undercover raid to save Sentinel Zeta Prime  
Sentinel Zeta Prime: He is referred to as Sentinel Prime in _Transformers: Exodus,_ and Zeta Prime in _War for Cybertron._ I combined both.

Moonracer's joining an air support corps was due to my seeing a fan art of her riding on top of Powerglide in jet mode, with her pistol raised.

* * *

"Leaving for your new squad?" Moonracer asked, a note of giddiness in her voice, and a pair of aviation goggles on top of her helm.

Ariel frowned at her friend's question, and ran a hand over the pistol holstered against the side of her leg. "Moonracer, this isn't some big adventure. You can get killed."

Moonracer nodded. "I know, but still, I'll get to fly with Powerglide! We'll provide aerial cover for you and the others."

Ariel shook her helm at her. "You're crazy. All of you on the air support corps are crazy." She sighed, and hugged her. "Just be safe up there, all right?"

Moonracer grinned at her. "Always!" She darted off to where Powerglide was waiting for her.

Ariel turned back toward the crowd of soldiers, and plunged back into it. She was a little unnerved about being granted the position of captain, due to her lack of military experience, but then again, it seemed many of the Autobot rank and file lacked experience, as well. She was only captain of a squad of four, including her, anyway, so thankfully she did not have to make any planet-shattering decisions.

Interestingly, her way to Delta Squad was indicated by a flashing sign upheld by a purple and yellow femme. Next to her stood a green femme, with one servo cupped above her optics as she scanned over the crowd. Heading over, Ariel commented, "Nice sign. Did you make it?"

Continuing to hold the sign aloft, the femme replied, "Yeah, I'm from the scientist class, so I can tinker with a few things here and there. You coming to join us, I assume?"

She nodded her helm, and took out her datapad, which displayed a list and bios of her squadmates. "Yes, that's me, Captain Ariel. You two are….?"

"Lancer," the sign holder replied.

"Greenlight," the green femme greeted with a salute, "Captain, forgive me for saying so, but we were expecting someone with a bit more of a militaristic bent."

"You seem to lack one, as well," Ariel noted, sidestepping the question.

Greenlight nodded. "Yes, I am of the same caste as Lancer. We'e bonded, you see." Recognition slowly dawned upon the femme's faceplate. "Wait, you're the Ariel, the bondmate of Optimus Prime?"

She nodded her helm.

"Then forgive us for our attitudes," Lancer chimed in to save face.

Ariel waved an arm. "I'll admit that I don't look like a captain." She paused to check off Greenlight and Lancer's names. "Our only remaining squad mate is Firestar. After that, we move to the rendezvous point."

"Understood." Ariel felt strange at their simultaneous reply. She had just been a scribe not too long ago, and meanwhile she had just been addressed with the rank of an officer. This would take getting used to, and she understood that Optimus most likely felt the same about becoming leader of the Autobots. She ignored such a tangle of emotions, and looked about for Firestar. Her squad mate's bio had indicated a picture of her, and Lancer's sign could help guide her over.

A red femme, chatting with two red mechs, walked into Ariel's line of vision. The larger of the two mechs was red with black points, while the smaller was red with white points. Glancing up, the femme's optics lit on the sign, and she nodded her helm. The larger mech clapped her on the back of the shoulder, while the smaller quickly passed words with her. Nodding, she ran off, with a hand upheld to them. Stopping before Ariel, she declared, "Firestar, formerly of Rescue Team Five of Iacon, reporting in."

For a moment, Ariel wondered if Greenlight and Lancer thought that perhaps Firestar should be leading instead of her, due to her previous experience. The next, however, she greeted, "Captain Ariel of Delta Squad. If we are all ready, let's move out."

Firestar, much to her relief, nodded professionally as Lancer powered down her sign. "Right behind you, Captain." Turning away, and walking to the front to lead the group, Ariel steeled herself before leaving Iacon behind.

XXXXXX

It was all so surreal, at first, but he had quickly learned to accept it.

Buildings collapsed, and fell to dust, leaving wastelands where populated roads and settlements once stood. Corpses, including civilians caught in the crossfire, were strewn about, leaving entire fields filled with the dead. There hadn't been time to think of the past, of the Hall of Records, of Ariel, or of ideals, when he was under fire. Autobots that had heeded Optimus's call had fallen beside him, ceasing to function within the first skirmishes.

Megatron stood above it all, mockingly calling him his brother, even still. "I expected more from you, librarian," he hissed, pinning Optimus up against a wall, with his fusion cannon pointed just beneath his chin.

Optimus outright grinned, the pain of having several open wounds being jammed into the dirty masonry making it spread wider. "Why end the game so early, then?" He twisted about, and slammed his pede into Megatron's lower chassis. Jamming his knee up, he knocked the cannon about, and fired, blasting a hole into Megatron's left hip. The tyrant's knees buckled, and he fell slightly backward. Optimus, his pedes finding the ground, swung his fist about, and collided it with Megatron's helm. Megatron staggered slightly, and corrected himself, dashing forward to pounce, and strike Optimus in the chassis, taking them both down to the ground. Shouts and gunfire sounded in the distance.

"A game?" Megatron spat into Optimus's faceplate, causing the other mech to wince. "Of course, you would see it like that, librarian! Everything is a game to you, a means to an end to achieve more of your power! To think," he brought down his fist, only for Optimus to catch it, and push back against it with a heavy grunt, "I had trusted you, and that I still waste time on you! I should have killed you the moment you scuttled into my meetings!"

Optimus grunted heavily, the Matrix glowing beneath his chassis. Megatron's optics were drawn to it. "When I am through, I will rip that from your worthless spark, and claim what I have so deserved! Why? Why would it choose a sniveling weakling like you? Your troops are already falling, Optimus. You're only prolonging the inevitable!" Optimus's optics narrowed as Megatron continued, "Cybertron will burn because of you, Optimus Prime!"

"And what would you do?" He snapped, pushing up far enough, and sliding out from under Megatron, his leg landing behind himself, and his knee bending to place his weight down upon it. "You would murder all who disagreed with your ideology, and you would burn down homes for simple revenge! How dare you speak to me like that!"

Megatron outright laughed at him. "I seemed to have touched a nerve." Optimus's servo twitched, and his guns raised. Megatron stood before him, his arms outspread, inviting the shots. "Go right ahead, Optimus Prime. End this now if you must. I am but a worthless gladiator, after all."

Optimus cracked off two shots, both landing and exploding upon a wall directly behind Megatron. Megatron grinned as he stood before him, the dust ghosting over his frame. He lowered his arms. "Pitiful, but to be expected." He raised his fusion cannon, and Optimus darted to the side as the plasma hummed during power-up. Optimus spun backward, barely avoiding the shot, though it passed close enough to singe the paint from his armor. Megatron glowered down at him. "Perhaps I thought wrong. I would not need it, if it chose an utter weakling like you. This is your Cybertron, Optimus Prime, stripped bare. Enjoy its ugliness, for you behold its true face."

"I was not the one to fire the first shot!" Optimus snapped, wiping Megatron's spit from his faceplate with the heel of his servo.

"You have not, no, but you beat down anyone who opposes your way of thinking!" Megatron yelled angrily, "You told me to tailor my message towards those who could hear it! I should have known that you were manipulating me from the start!" He tore forward. Optimus spun on his heel, and slipped out of the way, Megatron's axe swinging, and chipping off the side of his helmet. Catching himself on his servo, he glanced up, and breathed hard.

"Brother, I have not manipulated you. I would gladly have ruled at your side, but," he shook his helm as Megatron moodily tapped his axe against the palm of his servo, "I cannot allow this to continue."

"Why is that, Prime?" Dropping his servo from his axe, he waved it to indicate the city, now a war zone, "Look at what you've caused!"

Optimus stood at that. "You are slaughtering innocents, Megatron! And for what? To prove that you knew better than the Council? If it is me that you want to kill, then duel me alone! Don't take it out on the entire world!"

Megatron's fists clenched and unclenched. Slowly, he began to circle Optimus, the axe's clouded surface distorting the Autobot leader's reflection. "There will be another Orion, then, won't there? Whether it is Ariel, Jazz, or Ratchet, now you have created an army that will follow you."

"Leave them alone, Megatron," he growled in response.

"No," he stopped, "They are all threats to me, and should be terminated."

"Stop it," Optimus growled, starting forward, his guns raised, "You're acting paranoid, Megatron. What happened to the fearless gladiator of Kaon?"

"What happened to the trustworthy librarian of Iacon?" Megatron returned.

"I am here," he replied, sidestepping slowly, "If you drop your weapon, I will speak with you as a friend."

"I find that hard to believe. Do you think that the atrocities I have committed would be forgiven, or that all Decepticons would wish to be spoken to as friends?" A note of anguish entered Megatron's voice. For once, he stumbled over his words. "You—you don't understand, do you?" His voice cracked as he screamed, "You can't!" He darted forward, screaming in rage as he brought his axe down upon Optimus's servos, Optimus barely reacting in time to swing about, and bring up his guns as a block. The axe slipped, and Optimus gave a strangled cry, his optics wide as it tore through his chassis. Dropping his arm, he swung about, and smashed a right hook into the side of Megatron's faceplate. Staggering backward, his servo clutching his chassis, Optimus gasped as his energon spilled onto the ground beneath him, the blow having wedged deep enough to carve completely through the armor.

Megatron shook his helm out, and looked at him in disgust. "And the Matrix chose you. Pathetic." He stalked forward, the axe, still covered in Optimus's energon, upheld, "Your helm, then."

Optimus dropped his servos and connected them, swinging them, despite the pain, and connecting them with Megatron's forearms, offsetting his grip upon the axe, and causing it to drop. Energon continued to fall from Optimus's open wound, causing his knees to buckle. Powering up his gun, he shot, knocking Megatron on his side. The Decepticon leader wiped at the energon dripping from the corner of his mouth, and smirked at Optimus, who advanced slowly toward him, his servo clutched back at his chassis.

Smirking, Megatron transformed, and took to the skies, leaving Optimus to stand, panting heavily, and stare at the axe sticking out of the dirt.

"Functional?" Ratchet asked as Optimus stared down at his chassis, and felt over the weld mark upon it. He could hear slight annoyance in the medic's tone, but he could understand it. Ratchet was quite exhausted from the battle. All were, and he knew there was only more to come. Perhaps there was some contempt that he could feel emanating from his friend, for not ending it there. But how could he explain it? If he had killed Megatron, he would have proved him right. More so, he suspected that Megatron had been correct. Another Decepticon, most likely Soundwave, would have taken Megatron's place, leaving Optimus to eventually slaughter many of the rank and file. But then, he realized as he stared up at Ratchet's optics, that he had placed the others in danger by allowing Megatron to live.

But if he killed him, would that make him a dictator? The Matrix would tell him nothing, and yet…He felt fear seize him for a moment, the vision of the field hospital replaced with that of a slowly advancing, dark figure. Solus Prime's heavy breathing whispered in his audial receptors as Megatronus's optics glowed menacingly, his blade raised to bring down upon her helm.

"Optimus?" Ratchet shook him.

He started for a moment, and sighed, slumping back against the temporary berth. "Forgive me. The Matrix seemed to have reacted to my emotions."

Ratchet looked unsure, and guided him to lie back down. "Perhaps, then, you need to rest."

"I'll look at the data report of the battle," Optimus responded.

Ratchet handed it over to him, and moved dutifully away to attend to the other patients. Optimus sighed as he scanned over the casualty list. The Matrix served only to confuse him, it seemed. The energon drawn by Solus Prime's death had led to the collapse of the Thirteen, that could not be disputed, but this was not the same. Megatron had announced his intentions to Optimus, and yet the Matrix seemed to warn against putting a stop to it. He felt utter annoyance, as if the previous primes were judging him. What was the point of having their wisdom, if they would use it against him?

XXXXXX

Ariel's gun dangled from her fingers. She sighed, and holstered it. Stepping slowly forward, she placed her servos down upon the edge of the bunk. Exhausted, she lowered her helm. "This is only the beginning, isn't it?" She asked in resignation.

"It seems to be that way," Optimus replied heavily from where he sat upon it, the lightbulb dangling from the bunker's concrete ceiling casting gloomy shadows over his faceplate.

Ariel slowly rose, and held out her servo to him. He grasped it, and she stepped forward, sitting sideways upon his lap, her arm wrapped about his shoulders. "Don't think I'm cut out for this," she mumbled.

"I'm not, either," he replied, the corner of his mouth quirking, "I suppose we have a problem, then."

Ariel smiled back, but it slipped off as she placed a hand to his chassis. "Be careful in Kaon. I have not heard of an Autobot leaving the prison alive," she chuckled, "With lives at stake, I suppose there's a first time for everything."

"Without Sentinel Zeta Prime, we're lost," he replied.

She shook her helm. "I don't mean him." At Optimus's surprised expression, she explained, "There are so many common soldiers, who believe in you, and would gladly fall upon blades for you, who are suffering there. They are your motivation. Do not lose sight of that."

He nodded at that. "Yes. Otherwise, I would be no better than the Council, dictating the fates of others without consideration for their sentience," he paused, and grasped her shoulders, "Ariel, tell me, do I seem as If I am drifting?" At her stunned silence, Optimus elaborated, raising his servo, and clenching his fingers, "The Matrix of Leadership, this war, is it detaching me?"

Ariel slowly twined her fingers about his. Her indecision twisted within the bond, and Optimus felt ashamed. Ariel, however, could offer no comfort, as she couldn't hide the truth of her feelings from him. "Even I'm not the best source of information for that, Optimus, and you know it. The Matrix," she squinted her optics as she collected her thoughts, "makes it difficult for me to fully understand your thoughts. It is as if I hear multiple voices, echoes, if you will, of yours when your spark calls back to me." She chuckled. "I must seem like such an open book in comparison." That earned her a smile from him, but it was short-lived. Raising her helm to look up at him, she continued, "But if you're asking me if I still see Orion Pax within you, then that is not the correct question."

Her answer gave him a chill, but she cut him off before he could reply to that. "None of us are who we were before this war, and it is likely that we will not return to those identities. However," she let go of his servos, and swung slightly about to place her arms about his neck, "I still see such life within you, even now." He brought his arms about her, hugging her close to him. "You stand by your troops on the front lines, and speak to them as if they are your comrades." Grinning sheepishly, she added, "I heavily doubt that the Matrix would care for someone as inconsequential as me."

He tugged her into him, and she buried her helm in the crook of his neck. As she placed a kiss to it, he shuddered, and promised, "I will return to you, Ariel."


	3. Chapter 3

While Cybertronians have used mostly plasma-based weapons, there are also instances where Gatling guns have been used, specifically in the comics (G2 is an example). Chromia carrying a grenade launcher is actually a reference to the _Resident Evil_ series. Ironhide being a native of Praxus is from _Transformers: Exodus._ The horn on the back of Ariel's helm is a reference to her ponytail-like appendage in G1.

* * *

Cities and buildings fell. Crystal City splintered into shards. Praxus burned. Fires constantly lit the sky. In the daylight, heat waves distorted the image of the plummeting city to slow motion. At night, Praxus's flames filled the horizon as grotesque beacon.

From the remains of one building, the steel melted clean through, causing the structure to collapse, two local enforcers dug a native free, and dragged his barely-functioning body to a temporary Autobot outpost. "Will you help him?" The shorter enforcer, a femme with blue armor, demanded of the medic on hand, Ratchet.

Before he could answer, the taller enforcer, a burly red mech, added, "Neither of us very much cares for the fight that's going on here. If Optimus wants Praxian loyalty, he'll have to earn it from each of us!"

Ratchet responded with slight annoyance, "Enough! The more you yell at me, the less time he'll have! Let him down, and I'll have a look at him!"

Satisfied, the enforcers, lowered the civilian onto a cot, and, guided by hurried instructions by others within the encampment, came to stand before Optimus Prime. The Autobot leader was covered in scratches and dents, while pieces of his body were sparking. His right optic winked out every few minutes, and his antennae were broken down to the stumps. "Forgive me," Optimus stated gravely, "I had not meant for this fate to befall your city."

"A bit late for that!" The femme snarled.

"Hey!" Jazz admonished from where he was standing beside Optimus. The mech's visor was cracked, and his front bumper was sporting several recent weld marks, as if it had once been badly mangled. Optimus put his hand on his shoulder, and shook his head.

"Apologies might sound nice, but words can only do so much," the red mech replied skeptically, folding his arms, "What is Praxus to you, Prime? A hill for the Decepticons to die on?"

He shook his helm. "No, definitely not. To answer your question, Praxus is innocent of this conflict. It pains me greatly to see so many suffer as they are. I wish to bring an end to this war, and to rebuild the damage I am responsible for."

"But what will you do about those caught in the crossfire?" The femme asked, "You speak nicely, but I want to see proof that you are actually working to fulfill such an obligation that you have set for yourself."

Optimus spread his arms. "You see our frames as they are now. Jazz and I had been providing cover fire for civilians stranded in the residential area by the Combaticons known as Brawl and Vortex. We have not had the time or resources to be repaired, as we have spread them to our dispatched medical teams." Jazz nodded as his leader provided the explanation.

The mech glanced at the femme, who glanced back over her shoulder at the burning city with a sigh. "What do you think?" He asked.

She shook her helm. "The enforcers' grip upon this city has fallen off. You know it as well as me. What is your opinion Ironhide?" She asked, turning back to look at her companion, "Make serving a civilian our final accomplished duty?"

He nodded his helm. "It's probably the best we'll get." The femme turned back around to face Optimus directly, and the two simultaneously saluted him. "Officer Ironhide and Officer Chromia of Praxus, reporting for duty."

"I welcome both of you to the Autobots," Optimus replied warmly, and Jazz smiled approvingly, moving away from Optimus to begin speaking with another officer.

"I gather we won't be staying together?" Chromia inquired.

"I will see what I can do, but I can make no promises," he replied genuinely.

She smirked, and tapped Ironhide on the shoulder as she turned, her grenade launcher slung over her shoulder to walk away. "Don't get into too much trouble without me, big guy."

Turning back to Optimus, Ironhide added, "We did manage to ID the civilian we saved. Name's Bluestreak. He's just barely older than a kid. Think this Ratchet will be sufficient?"

He nodded his helm, and gestured for Ironhide to follow him along, proudly declaring, "Ratchet is the most skilled medic I have. He is greatly devoted to his work. Bluestreak is in good servos."

"Glad to hear it," Ironhide replied, pausing and pointing. "That's Prowl, isn't it?"

Following his finger, Optimus nodded at the sight of white doorwings, the mech who was attached to them gesturing for a small group to follow him back into the city streets. "It is," he responded.

"'Least another of us is still alive," Ironhide replied, "What little consolation that is."

XXXXXX

"Captain Ariel?" Chromia inquired, stopping before her.

"That's me," she replied, saluting at the newcomer, "You must be Officer Chromia."

Chromia smirked at her respect of her previous rank, and returned her salute. "Private Chromia now. Here's to hoping that you're worth the trade."

Knowing full well that Firestar, Lancer, and Greenlight were standing quietly behind her, and were listening intently, Ariel replied evenly, "I didn't realize I was a commodity, and one in demand, no less."

Chromia's smirk widened, and she played along, walking around her speculatively. "Don't think so well of yourself. The problem with Iaconian models is you're too soft. You fall too quickly."

"By your logic, we should've won this war far earlier," Ariel replied with a laugh, staying in place, "If the Decepticons are falling to us, then they shouldn't prove much of a problem."

"Fair enough, then," Chromia replied, stepping into line with the other femmes, "But let's get this finished, hot shot. I want my city back."

As weeks wore by, however, Ariel figured that Chromia had to have been facetious. Firestar's extinguisher kept running low, forcing her to double up with Inferno and Red Alert. Greenlight dismantled a few demolitions charges to prevent buildings from falling, but only granted a few days of time. As the death toll mounted, Ariel found herself dragging more corpses than wounded away.

She coughed from inhaling the fumes of burning trash. Gasping for breath, she waved the others forward. Squinting through tears from the hot air, Ariel fired, her pistol striking a Decepticon's leg, bringing him to a limp. Daylight blazed over her. Glass broke as someone's corpse, burning, fell out of a window to crash nosily to the ground. Optimus's fatigue bled through her bond with him, nearly driving her to her knees. Gritting her dentals, she forced herself to continue, regretting not for the first time forging her bond with him due to the pain it brought her in the war. Her fists clenched at her sides. He would make it out alive. He had to.

Firestar leapt upon a massive Decepticon. With a whoop, she drove down her axe into his shoulder, causing him to double over in pain. Lancer charged forward, and slid on her knees underneath another Decepticon. Grabbing Greenlight's outstretched servo, she twisted about. Greenlight shot the Decepticon across the arms, only to be swiped sideways with a groan. Chromia crouched, and shot, the grenades bouncing and rolling before blasting what remained of the street to pieces. Wheeled Decepticons, comprised of former conscripted miners and factory workers, that had been advancing toward her slipped into the fissure, their wheels stuck.

As Chromia advanced to fire upon them, however, a chunk of wall fell out, and she jumped backward toward Ariel. Ariel swung her pistol about, and gasped at the hulking femme's frame, from which protruded a large rotating gun. "Fall back!" She commanded, grabbing Chromia's shoulder, and leading her off. Firestar, Greenlight, and Lancer were too far off in the opposite direction.

"Little Ariel!" Strika called tauntingly after her as she and Chromia slid into a side alley. "I'm ready for my interview!"

Chromia dropped to her knee. "Friend of yours?" She asked sardonically, firing off a shot from her vantage point.

Ariel chose against replying as the shot exploded, sending glass and masonry falling. Strika grunted, and coughed, her intakes clogged by dust. "We'll have to split up, and flank her. She's too powerful to face alone," Ariel decided.

Chromia nodded. "Got it. Who's taking her head-on?"

"That'll be me," Ariel replied.

Chromia paused for a moment. "Come again?"

Ariel glanced back over her shoulder as she heard Strika's pedes thumping toward them. "You have more firepower than I do, and you just noted that Strika knows me. You only managed to stall the Decepticons that we were advancing from the opposite direction, and Firestar and the others are busy. I'll try to buy some time." Chromia didn't look satisfied, but Ariel added, "And you're out of time to argue, private. Get moving." Chromia darted off.

Ariel took a breath, and sprung across the alley.

"Little Ariel," Strika commented, a sneer forming upon her faceplate, "it's been too long."

Ariel's servo shook, her pistol rattling in her grip. Spinning on her heel, she barely managed to shield herself behind a broken chunk of wall before a Gatling gun tore through where she had just been standing, sending up dirt and debris. "Got a new toy?" Ariel inquired dryly, her pistol held up to the side of her faceplate.

"Ah, yes. It also has its practical uses, such as," Ariel ducked and rolled as a second barrage tore holes through the wall, covering her in falling masonry, "flushing out Autobot scum!" Breathing heavily, Ariel lurched upward, only to cry out from the weight of the masonry collapsing upon her. She coughed as dust clogged her throat, and wiggled around beneath the debris. Taking her pistol in both hands, she rammed it like a pick into the dust. Strika's pedes stomped around in the distance, causing Ariel's breath to draw quickly from fear. Hollowing out a recess, she stuck her servo through, and shoved along the dirt, widening the crack until she could jam her elbow through. Knocking against the loose in earth, in vain she scrambled for purchase, only to slip. She growled in annoyance, and hissed as she felt her time run out.

Light fell upon her as Strika, with a grunt, shoved the masonry off her. Ariel swung up her helm, and slid backwards, firing. The Gatling gun tore across the dirt, drawing closer, Ariel's optics widening. She screeched as they tore through her pedes and legs, and gasped as Strika yanked her forwards by her injured left leg, her fingers sinking into the open wounds.

She swung her pistol about, and fired up at the former gladiator's neck. The plasma sizzled against Strika's free servo, which she had raised to protect herself. Groaning, she swung hard into Ariel's arms. Ariel cried out from the pain as her elbow joints gave out, her gun falling to the ground to skid away. "Now then," Strika continued, sneering as she dragged her over, and, seizing her by the horn jutting out on the back of her helm, hoisted her up. Ariel spat up into Strika's faceplate. Strika, her optics narrowed, tugged hard upon the horn, forcing Ariel to cry out in agony. Tears pricked at the corners of her optics from the pain as the horn broke off. Ariel fell to the ground in a heap, energon pooling out from the back of her helm. She hissed as Strika kicked her in the chassis. "Where were we before, so long ago? Ah, yes," Strika grasped Ariel's jaw, forcibly swinging it around to look at her. The smaller femme glared up at her, her glare narrowing as Strika squeezed harder, "You do not speak for us, and now," Ariel's optics shot wide open as the larger femme clamped so hard upon her jaw that the metal squealed, and gave inward. Tears welled in her optics, and Strika grinned at her, "you won't speak at all." Ariel shrieked as Strika tore off her jaw, energon flying to splatter upon her body. "And the saddest part," Strika commented, glancing over her handiwork as Ariel lay broken upon the ground, "is that you're not even worth finishing off, scribe. Your Cybertron is gone, and soon enough, Optimus Prime will be, as well." The former gladiator stalked off, leaving Ariel lying on her side to stare after her, her vision fading into darkness.

She was not sure how much time had passed when she heard someone, as if from a distance, calling out her name. Slowly, swimming through the darkness, she was able to discern a fragment of blue, and a distortion of a voice, "Ariel! Frag—gotta—" Ariel knew no more, her consciousness slipping from her yet again as she drifted back into darkness.

XXXXXX

He felt it, her pain and suffering, though as a mere echo, a throb. It had given him pause, and then the Matrix snatched it back from his grasp, dulling it. Optimus, however, railed against the Matrix, and reached for the cry of Ariel's spark. The internal battle was framed externally against fire, with Ironhide shoving him to the side, and providing cover. Praxus was crumbling, and yet the lines barely moved. Scavenger's bright yellow glowed as he rose from ash, and aimed his rifle at Prowl, while the former enforcer's attention was filled with providing cover fire for Bluestreak. Jazz pounced upon Prowl, knocking him down just in time to avoid the shot.

"Prime, where's your mind at?!" Ironhide exclaimed in annoyance, "You could've been killed!"

"It's Ariel," he replied gruffly, ducking down and taking aim, "Her spark, she's wounded severely—"

A voice crackled over the commlink, cutting him off. "This is Chromia of Delta Squad. We need immediate assistance, repeat, immediate assistance! Captain Ariel is down! Repeat, Captain Ariel is down!" The words seized Optimus Prime's spark, and he missed, the shot going wide, and sending masonry falling upon a broken Decepticon's remains.

Ironhide glanced over at Optimus, who sighed heavily. They couldn't spare Ratchet, due to his being needed on the front line. Fighting to keep the shakiness from his voice, he replied, "Understood, I'll send First Aid."

Chromia sighed. Ironhide and Optimus could hear her grunting, and assumed that she was attempting to patch Ariel up. "Prime, you're going to need more than just him. Ariel will need a complete overhaul, or she won't survive." Optimus's optics shot open at that, and he collapsed from a crouching form to his knees. Pressing the palm of his servo against the wall of the trench, he collected himself, the voices of the primes before him ringing inside of his processor, and railing at him to get up, and continue. His troops needed him…But then, Ariel was also one of his troops, wasn't she? Chromia, however, hadn't finished speaking, "I'm stabilizing her to the best of my ability. If I can find Firestar in enough time, we might be able to get her to last until First Aid shows up. After that, she'll need extensive repairs."

"Prime," Ironhide nudged him, and he glanced up. The old former enforcer stared down at him. "Come on." Optimus was about to argue with him that he would be feeling differently about this, if it had been Chromia, but instead said nothing. He was a prime, and could not argue, only act. And yet, behind that was a sense of sympathy Ironhide held for him. Ariel was not yet lost.

"We'll be ready for her," he replied, "regroup and fall back."

"Understood," Chromia cut the link, and Optimus sent his order to First Aid.

"What do you think it was?" Ironhide inquired as Optimus rose back up, powering his weapons.

"Does it matter?" Optimus replied sharply, the blasting and shattering of Lugnut's optic punctuating his words.


	4. Chapter 4

Originally, I was going to have Ratchet rebuild Ariel, but he would be needed on the front line. Alpha Trion has a different role in Prime than his G1 version, so I also did not feature him doing so. Glyph's role is more of a rear line surgeon. Jazz, in _Transformers: Exodus_ , was close friends with Optimus before the war.

* * *

"Delta Squad is near our designated field hospital. After that, we'll have to begin surgery immediately, from the reports First Aid has been giving me," Ratchet declared, looking over his notes regarding his most recent patients, who were in a tentative recharge, "Once finished, we will need to transport Ariel to Iacon. Our facilities are strongest there."

"How extensive will it be?" Optimus inquired, concerned.

"From what I can tell thus far," Ratchet pointed at his datapad for emphasis, "we would need to either completely patch or replace most of her body, or build her a new one to move her spark. The second option is too risky."

Optimus nodded his helm, though he kept his optics averted from the datapad. His spark pulsed painfully, causing him to place his servo to it every other moment. Ratchet turned his helm, and advised him carefully, "Don't strain yourself, Optimus. Your spark, in this condition, cannot take it right now."

"Perhaps this was not an intelligent decision for Ariel and me to have made," he muttered.

Ratchet shrugged. "It was prior to the war. You wouldn't have known. Here they come." He pointed past the assembled contingents of troops before the field hospital, indicating a quick moving squad in alt-mode. Firestar's truck form was easy to recognize in the front, while Optimus theorized that First Aid was probably using his alt form to carry Ariel. Anticipation seized him. He had to remain for the intelligence report Firestar would give in Ariel's place, he told himself. Still, he willed against his own fear to not turn away, and face what had become of his mate.

Pulling to a halt, First Aid slipped a gurney out of the back of his alt form, and quickly transformed. Grasping the gurney, he darted past Optimus, crying out, "Ratchet, Velocity, I need assistance here, stat!" Optimus's optics were drawn to the sight, and he immediately wished that he hadn't looked. Ariel was utterly broken, her jaw covered with a sheet. Energon was leaking through it. He stood quietly, shaken, and half-compelled to tear after the gurney. Orion Pax would have run, and he would have clung to Ariel's servo, begging for her to wake up. Optimus Prime, however, slowly, painfully, turned his helm away to salute Firestar and the others.

"I'm very sorry, sir," Firestar prefaced. Chromia, splattered with energon, most likely Ariel's, stood tiredly beside her, her optics lighting for a moment at the return of Ironhide. Greenlight limped, her arm across Lancer's shoulder.

Optimus waved a servo. "It can't be helped. What led to this?"

"A Decepticon named Strika," Greenlight replied tiredly. Optimus's optics widened in recognition as she continued, "Strika and her attack force ambushed us. We're going to need more power if we're going to take them down."

Chromia shook her helm. "Skill."

"Semantics," Firestar corrected, shutting down the conversation, "We were cost dearly by this new threat, and must reassess the strength of our team. Foremost, however, Strika remains a threat."

Optimus nodded his helm. "Understood. Dismissed." The femmes fell out, with Firestar giving him one last look before walking over to sit next to Red Alert and Inferno, the former lying against the latter's shoulder, who gladly welcomed her return. Lancer carried Greenlight off toward the field hospital Chromia advanced toward Ironhide, and wrapped her arms about him, her helm falling upon his chassis. Optimus, unable to bear it any longer, turned his back, and walked away.

Sitting on a piece of fallen masonry, he quietly sipped at the energon cube in his servo, staring at the field hospital. "This seat taken?" He glanced up to see Jazz standing above him. Shaking his helm, Optimus gestured to allow him to sit down.

"Excellent job protecting Prowl out there," Optimus commented, though the words felt hollow in his throat.

Jazz smiled. "He would've done it for me. Can't say as to what sort of enforcer Prowl was, but he's a good mech." It slowly slipped, however, as he saw Optimus's lack of change in facial expression. "You're worried."

He sighed, placing the cube down, and lowering his helm. "Not so much worried, as exhausted."

Jazz was silent for a few moments before replying, "Remember when we used to go to Maccadam's? Seems like a lifetime ago, doesn't it?"

"In some ways to me, it is," Optimus replied flatly.

"We're still here, though, aren't we?" Jazz inquired with a shrug. "We've changed, and I'd argue not for the better. It's so easy to lose everything, these days."

Optimus lifted his helm, and looked sideways at his friend. "I should be grateful to feel my mate's pain?"

Jazz shook his helm. "No, definitely not, but just remember that she is still here, as am I." He placed his servo upon Optimus's shoulder, drawing his leader's helm back to him, "If you need me, I'll be here."

Optimus smiled gratefully at him, but was interrupted by Ratchet's voice. Turning their helms, Optimus and Jazz saw Ratchet holding up the thermal blanket that served as a curtain to the boundary of the field hospital. "I need to speak with you." Optimus pushed the remainder of his cube to Jazz, and stood to walk over to him.

Ratchet led him past the occupied beds, allowing Optimus to look down at the reclining and mangled forms of the wounded. Some sat slightly up at his appearance, others gave small salutes, and still others simply stared at them. He acknowledged each of them with a salute of his own, and stopped beside Ratchet. "I can't simply pass these 'bots up," he explained, "They are just as important as she is."

Ratchet nodded his helm, and Optimus caught a note of approval in his friend's voice as he replied, "Her cot is the furthest to the right."

Optimus was warm, but also purposeful in his interactions, taking time to stop by each cot, and greet each soldier individually to thank him or her for serving him under his banner, and for the sacrifices made by the individual in question. He clasped the servos of those who could still raise them, while assisting those who were too tired. While he did try to put on a tougher countenance despite his tiredness, he knew that he was losing his own internal battle. Whether it further demoralized his troops to see him tired, or perhaps it drew him closer to them, he wasn't sure.

Ariel lay quietly upon the bed, her body covered up to the mouth by the sheet. Optimus stopped in his tracks, out of fear for a moment that it was covering her head. Velocity, however, standing by her, quelled his unrest with a shake of her helm. "She's still alive, but she will be taken to Iacon. Her spark can be preserved, but her body is too damaged; she will need a new one."

Optimus's fists clenched and unclenched. With a solemn nod, he replied, "Understood. Thank you for saving her."

Velocity shrugged. "We did our duty as well as we could. She is no different. However," she folded her servos behind her back, "this cannot continue to occur. We have the resources now to replace the bodies of our soldiers, as we have before, but we are running out," She smiled bitterly, "We're running out of everything, really, but if someone falls like Ariel did, they won't be able to saved, unless we acquire spare materials through other means."

Optimus's optics narrowed. "Melting down the dead? Is that what you're suggesting?"

"It is an alternative," Velocity replied, "however it's not one I recommend. It will come off as disrespectful to the dead, most understandably, especially," she swallowed, "after what you, Sidewsipe, Bumblebee, and Air Raid discovered in the prison at Kaon."

Optimus turned his gaze back to Ariel's unconscious form. "But then, others won't be saved, as the war draws on."

Velocity nodded gravely. "We will move her and the others once we are ready to leave. Glyph will perform the surgery."

"May I?" Optimus gestured to her.

"Of course." Velocity saluted, and departed to tend to other patients.

Optimus moved toward Ariel, and gently reached toward her servo, a lump underneath the sheet. Squeezing it softly, he whispered, "I'll be waiting for you, Ariel. Rest well."

XXXXXX

The hum of spark rate monitors slowly drew Ariel from the darkness. Groaning, she attempted to shake her helm, or raise her servo, only to find that they would not budge. A fearful cry rose in her throat, as she could feel neither appendage. Had she truly died? Where was the Well of Allsparks? Her vision swam in darkness and light, with motion above her blurring. Had she somehow slipped into a fissure of time, not to be heard from again?

Soft pounding came over to her, thrumming against her audio receptors. Words swam, and she had to strain to understand the vocal tones. She heard her name whispered by a female voice. Something tilted her frame slightly, and ran over it. She wished to flinch away, but felt trapped within her immobilized frame. The words slowly formed into being within her mind. "….Stable. Some consciousness detected. Can you hear me, Ariel?" A groan rose in Ariel's throat, but it came out as a slight whimper. A servo patted against her helm. "It's all right, you can sleep. When you awaken again, it will be better." A gasp of familiarity rose in her throat at the voice, but it fell from pure exhaustion.

XXXXXX

She pressed her servo against the glass of the mirror, and sighed heavily. Her new form was taller, and sleeker, the one horn on the back of her helm replaced with several jutting from the top of her helm. Her faceplate seemed narrower, and older, her expressions harsher. She muttered the new designation given her by Glyph, though it lacked any meaning. It was not her, and yet, she was distant from Ariel, as well, that part of her life having ended. Good riddance.

A medal from the battle that had nearly killed her lay in a metal box. Glyph had held the box out to her, and explained that it had been awarded in absentia. She had nearly wanted to swipe it from the doctor's outstretched servos, but stopped herself. While she was raring to get back to the battlefield, Glyph had, much to her annoyance, prescribed for her to remain within Iacon for a few weeks, and retrain to get used to her new body. It was repetitive to her, having to run drill after drill, between tests of physical prowess, to transforming, to firing a weapon, the initial novelty of seeing what much more her body could produce having worn off.

Iacon itself was in a state of contained unrest. While still under Autobot control, the citizenry remained under a sense of unease, especially with the amount of soldiers that were patrolling or cavorting within the area. She noticed how civilians tended to shy away from her, and she took her energon quietly and alone. In some ways, she supposed, it would probably be best to cherish the moments she had in Iacon, especially during a war, yet she only felt anticipation. There was nothing left to do in now, restless as she was. Her old office was gone, and she'd kept the datapads she written as Ariel. Lowering one with a shake of her head, however, she put it away, not to pick up again. She felt nothing from the words now.

The rifle she now held felt heavier, and more powerful than the pistol. She had been disoriented by the kickback for the first few shots, but when they began to land home, she became more aggressive. Narrowing her optics, she shot the metal outline at the firing range multiple times, envisioning Strika collapsing in pain from the gunfire. And yet, cleaning off the gun, and leaving the range, she would feel her range recede to be replaced with concern.

Firestar was unable to answer her comm, indicating to her that her comrade was likely on the move with the others. She placed her servo to her chassis, and felt the warmth of her spark chamber beneath it. As for Optimus, he was another matter entirely. She felt his slowly wavering optimism, coming to her through the bond. At least it had survived her near death, what little consolation that was. She couldn't help but be concerned as to how his own spark had suffered. Had he been injured in the battle because of her? What of her squad? Unfortunately, little information was known due to her isolated location. Optimus, too, could not be heard from, but she did listen in on his speeches to his troops. She felt a bittersweet happiness at the gentleness in his tone, though the underlying sorrow of it, it had seemed, at least to her, had grown.

The Hall of Records remained a haunt for the officers, and she showed her identification to be allowed in.

Alpha Trion was behind his desk, writing with his Quill as always. The datapads lining the shelves remained intact. Staring out of one of the hall's wide windows at Iacon below, she wondered, after her brush with death, if she would see it again.

Alpha Trion glanced up as she rapped on the doorframe. "Ariel—no sorry, Elita-One?"

She lowered her servo to fold both together. "The names are still strange to me," she commented, "Have you a moment? I will not be long in departing."

Alpha Trion nodded, and gestured for her to sit before him. "I apologize that I have not spoken with you often," she prefaced, "I just feared that we would have nothing to say to each other, as opposed to your apprentice and yourself."

"I'm sorry to hear that you have felt so," he replied, placing aside his Quill, "My door was always open to an inquisitive mind such as yours, Captain."

She smiled sheepishly, and shrugged. "The time has passed, then, I suppose. Could I possibly ask you a question?"

"By all means." He gestured for her to continue.

Her hands squeezed each other, and dropped to her sides. "What can you tell me of death?"

A silence between them followed, and Alpha Trion replied, "That is a broad topic, and, understandably, one that is more often spoken of nowadays."

She nodded. "Then I will narrow my scope. What can you tell me of death of the individual?"

Alpha Trion spread his servos. "I will tell you what I can. Cursorily, when we die, our sparks join the Well of Allsparks. No one is exempt from this, from one of the original Thirteen to the slave of the gladiatorial pits. Our bodies remain as empty husks to be buried with honors. However," he broke off, "that is not what you wish to know. I can suspect that this has more to do with loss of identity."

She nodded her head.

"That is more difficult to understand." He steepled his fingers. "If you desire a quick or easy answer, you will not get one."

"That's all right," she answered, "I will try to digest what I can." She lowered her helm. "I'm sorry that I didn't ask you this earlier, about Optimus, but that I think I would've been overstepping bounds on that. He has a bond with you that I can't come between. When it comes to me, however, I was hoping now would be a good time to talk, since I've experienced near-death, and am," she indicated her full body with a gesture, "this."

Alpha Trion nodded his helm. "You respected his boundaries on that, but even still, his case is different than yours due to the Matrix of Leadership. You must know that, Elita."

"I do, but I don't want this to widen a rift between us," she lowered her optics, "it is already there, has been ever since the Matrix chose him, but unseen. I clutch him to me still, despite that, perhaps selfishly. Maybe this was not the right thing to do to a good mech, who has shouldered the burden of a prime, but I cannot let him go."

"Do not speak about him as if he is a passive object," Alpha Trion corrected sharply, causing her to raise her helm, "If Optimus had not desired to remain with you, he would not." More gently, he continued, "Though your concern does remain valid. I would argue that you are still asking this more on behalf of your own well-being, and perhaps that is where we should begin." Caught, she sat quietly, and listened. "Cases of lost identity are not rare throughout the history of our race, long-lived as we are, and in our ability to be rebuilt. It will appear gradual at first, as your recent memories are of that past, but slowly, it will begin to fall from you. Subjects that used to interest you may no longer do so."

She nodded her helm. "Yes, they already have. But what remains of me, then? A husk?"

"What is it you want, Elita?" He asked gently.

"Freedom for all from Megatron's tyranny," she replied automatically, though when Alpha Trion continued to stare at her, she continued after some hesitation, "Revenge."

"That is what will eat you alive," he pointed out, "If your only concern is for vengeance, it will narrow your vision."

"But what else can I think of?" Her fists clenched. "Strika was the reason I am in this body, that I am this—this war machine! Once my purpose is served, I don't even know what I'll be able to do!"

"You are no different from so many," Alpha Trion replied sternly, touching the Quill for emphasis, "Our fates change, and not always to correlate with our desires. You were once Ariel, and in some ways, you are still her. You care for much more than simple revenge. The friends you have made, the ideals you have held, yes, they all can and will change, but they matter to you. They form who you are."

Elita sighed. It all seemed so simple.


	5. Chapter 5

The uncut version of this chapter is on A03. I low-key ship G1 Firestar and Skyfire, and the colors on her fire extinguisher match his dominant colors in G1. Optimus's office and center of operations, when not in the field, is within the Hall of Records in _Transformers: Exodus_.

* * *

"Captain Elita-One, reporting for duty." She proudly saluted Optimus.

Keeping close to protocol, he greeted her with a salute of his own. "Welcome back, Elita-One." The work on her body frame was immaculate, bulking her out considerably. The tail upon the back of her helm had been replaced with horns. Her paint job had darkened considerably from its former pink to violet.

"It's a pleasure, sir. I'm glad to see that the other officers among us are also still functioning," she turned about, and nodded at the small gathering of the higher-ranking Autobots, "However, I suspect that I also have missed a few things."

The officers shared a short laugh at her joke, and Elita smiled at that. It fell, however, when Optimus brought the meeting back to business. "You will be reassigned to your former squad, unless there are any objections?"

She shook her helm. "I have none, sir."

"Very well. All records, unless confidential, connecting you to Ariel must be purged for your own safety. Each of you," the officers nodded at that, "Will know Elita-One as she truly is, but outside of clandestine meetings, must refer to her as separate entity from Ariel. Your squad will bear an exception," he indicated.

Elita-One saluted. "Thank you, sir. I will serve you well once more." As she turned to move away from him, he noticed how she held his gaze for a few moments. He knew, despite himself, that that matter could not be handled now, and instead accepted the datapad that Ultra Magnus had presented him.

XXXXXXX

Firestar greeted Elita with a relieved smile, and a firm shake of the servo. "Captain!"

Lancer and Greenlight clustered about her, while Chromia remained quietly in the background. "Amazing, simply amazing!" Lancer exclaimed, glancing appraisingly about Elita's body. "The repair work is quite immaculate."

When Greenlight voiced her agreement, Elita turned to her. "I'm glad to see that you are repaired, as well," she noted.

Greenlight smiled, and hugged Lancer to her. "I have to thank my better half for pulling me out of there."

Elita smiled, and caught Chromia's optic. The blue femme nodded at her, and indicated with a gesture that she wished to speak on a later occasion.

"Status report?" She inquired to Firestar.

Firestar nodded her head solemnly. "Praxus, as you probably know by now, proved a stalemate. We've had to since fall back, and guard our held cities. We are running low on resources and time in our defensive maneuvers."

"Optimus has been acting more cautious since Praxus," Chromia threw in, her voice bitter, "If this continues, the Decepticons will either strike hard, or we will have other cities crumble to dust in the crossfire."

"I see," Elita responded, glancing about the group, "What function have we performed thus far?"

"Support," Firestar replied, "Mostly run-and-gun missions to take out sniper encampments, or to knock out an emplacement."

Elita nodded. "All right, if we're on the defensive, we're going to need more than that."

"What do you propose?" Greenlight inquired.

"Find the issues with our supply lines, and rectify them. We're going to go on intel-gathering detail first, seeing as how our squad is small to begin with. Any questions?"

Firestar smiled. "Well, at least we'll see some action."

XXXXXX

"You wanted to speak with me?" Elita asked, coming over to sit down next to Chromia. Firestar, Lancer, and Greenlight were recharging within the bunker of the Autobot encampment. Come morning light, Elita would direct her squad to move out, thus the three were comforted, for the moment, by the sounds of recharge by other mechs and femmes. She and Chromia, however, lingered in the corridor, with the sounds of pumps and vents echoing about them.

"Yes," Chromia leaned back against the wall. She off-lined her optics, and rubbed her faceplate. "I'm very sorry that I wasn't there fast enough to save you."

"It doesn't matter now," Elita muttered, "It's over."

Chromia shook her helm, and waved her arm for emphasis. "That was my city that you were deathly wounded in. That was my city that fell. Ironhide, Prowl, and so many others like me, we gave so much to keep Praxus safe, but it's completely worthless now." She hung her helm back against the wall, her mouth parted in a silent scream of agony and frustration. Placing the backs of her servos against her off-lined optics, as if to scrub against them, she slid down to sit upon the floor.

Elita looked upon her newest squad mate with sympathy. She at least still had Iacon, but Chromia's home lay in ashes. Chromia dropped her servos to her sides, and stared listlessly up at her captain. "You nearly died trying to help us."

Elita shook her head. "It's not so simple as that. I'm surprised that you don't hold animosity toward me."

"For supporting Orion Pax?" Chromia asked softly.

Elita nodded. "You can be candid with me."

Chromia sighed. "Frankly, there have been times when I wished that I had never heard of him, or Megatronus. However, there is no choice, now. I will not side with a tyrant."

Elita raised an optic ridge. "Were we better off without reforms?"

She shook her helm. "Of course not, but this cost is too high." Turning to look at Elita, Chromia continued, "I trust you at my side, Captain, do not mistake that. However, you and Optimus Prime have a few things to answer for," she shrugged, "We all do, but that isn't the point." At Elita's crestfallen expression, Chromia clarified, "But, I will also be the first to protect you, should anyone wish to exact vigilante justice upon you."

"Thank you for that." Elita extended her servo. Taking it, Chromia stood, and followed her back into the sleeping quarters.

XXXXXX

Elita gasped as Powerglide flew into an all-out spin, his right wing burning. Moonracer clung to his fuselage. "No, no, no!" Elita whispered, frantically darting forward, and firing her rifle, despite knowing that she was too far off to be of any assistance. Moonracer's arm rose, and she fired backward at Thundercracker. Thundercracker, dodging her shot, fired back, hitting Powerglide's left wing. Lancer gasped from behind Elita as Powerglide plummeted, carrying Moonracer with him right into a building, which shook from the impact. Elita gnashed her dentals, and clenched her fists as the two Seekers flew away. "Oh, you'll pay for this," she snarled, "You'll pay dearly."

Moonracer's remains, molten by the heat, were draped over Powerglide, who had died, seemingly upon impact, in alt-form. His cockpit windows were smashed, and his wings were dented and turned sideways. Kneeling beside her friend's corpse, Elita sighed heavily. Firestar moved past her, and extinguished the flames nearby. "I can better understand how you and Inferno think." Firestar glanced over her shoulder at her squadmate's words. Elita lay her rifle at her side, and explained, "After experiencing my own death, I have nothing to fear, now."

Firestar moodily shut off her extinguisher, and blew on the empty barrel. She was silent for a few moments before replying, "You don't fear for yourself, I can agree with that. However, you do fear for others, and that can be more detrimental than you can ever imagine." Elita bit back a reply, and allowed her to continue. She noted the twin red and blue lines that were engraved up the side of the barrel as Firestar scrubbed at the ash that had been caked on it from years of use. "You would stand in the fire for someone that you love, I can see it in you now, but what would happen if you were too late, Elita-One? Or, what is the worse," she raised her helm to lock optics with her, "if you dragged others with you?" Disquieted by Firestar's words, Elita said nothing more, and Firestar returned to her work, allowing her peace.

XXXXXX

"Our supply lines are being cut along this pass," tapping upon her datapad, she enlarged the image, and displayed to Optimus the geographical location, "no doubt due to Decepticon interference. We have been able, however, to determine that it is Strika's contingent that is leading the assault. I have their specs here," she lowered another datapad to the desk, and carefully directed the pad to outline the profiles of Strika's squadmates, as well as any information on other soldiers aligned with the squad.

Optimus picked up each datapad, and analyzed them side by side. His optics rose, and Elita held his gaze quietly. After a long pause, he replied, "You wish to pursue her, then?"

Elita nodded, her servos folded. "We are ready to leave, and this is a smaller scale mission. We will not be largely missed on the frontline." She could feel his hesitation, however, and that bothered her heavily. She allowed him to speak, knowing that her vendetta was largely a factor in this. However, as his finger tapped moodily upon his desk, he knew her words to be correct, with troops and resources dwindling. "Think of it as my recompense for the resources that were given to my being restored."

Optimus's fingers clenched into a fist. "That was not showing favoritism. It would have been done for any of my troops, were the resources available," he replied shortly, realizing too late that he had trapped himself, "I also cannot, in this manner, as well. You have my permission to pursue Strika."

Elita bowed her helm. "Thank you."

"Though," Optimus rose from the desk, "I will add a caveat. Don't you dare endanger your squad in the pursuit of a personal vendetta." Elita kept her face neutral, but he could feel some anger pulsing through the bond. "Ariel, for as far as Decepticon intelligence is aware, was killed."

She waved her servo dismissively. "Then let the rumors of my death be exaggerated. Ariel died upon that black day, and Optimus Prime mourned her." She stopped. "Officially, Elita-One became a commander under your charge, but your meetings were purely under professional terms. There was no connection between the two femmes."

He tapped his fingers against the side of his leg. "Our lieutenants would still know of our off-record interactions, however."

Elita smirked at that, and tilted her helm. "I suppose we'll just have to keep propriety in mind, then."

"But," pushing aside an old stack of datapads on his desk, he inquired, "From where do we begin?" Elita chuckled, and his initial surprise at her reaction slowly turned to humor. "Perhaps I better understand you now," he observed, realizing how their positions had been reversed form that eve of the war, when he had presented himself to her as a prime.

She sighed, and shook her helm. "No, you better understand how Ariel felt. I am not her any longer."

"Then why seek me out?" He questioned, his optics boring into hers. "As when the Matrix of Leadership had first chosen me, you can," he pointed at the door, "walk away from me right now. I will not force you to remain by my side in a new vessel." He dropped his finger and shrugged. "Regardless, I would not force you to do so, anyway, but that is not the point. Yet, you come back to me again." Starting forward, he placed his servos upon her shoulders. "Why, Elita?"

She swallowed at that. "Don't you order me," she hissed when she found her voice again.

He shook his helm. "No, I'm asking you as your mate. Why did you return to me? If you are not Ariel, then why?"

"Ariel was weak," she responded. Her dentals gnashed, she pushed against his servos, but he held fast to her. In frustration, she continued, "She—I was not strong enough to stop Strika. I cannot fathom how many lives would have been saved, had I been able to bring her down that day. But instead, I fell, and I nearly took you with me. Don't you understand?" She demanded, her voice shaking slightly. "The name Ariel shames me, even now."

Optimus, despite standing just before her, disappeared from her vision. She turned her head to the side in the warm embrace he gave her. "I can't change how you feel about yourself, but I want you to know this. I am proud of who Ariel was. She sacrificed everything she had to protect others."

"She still failed," Elita growled.

His servo squeezed the back of her shoulder blade. "That's it, isn't it?" He inquired.

"What more could be said?" She inquired, pulling back from him to stare up at him, "Lives were lost because she—I—failed. I can't forgive myself for that." Her voice cracked, and she leaned into him.

Optimus lowered his helm. "You did what you could, to the best of your ability. You did not show fear before Strika."

"What little happiness that brings me," she growled.

"Elita," he whispered, rubbing his fingers over her back, "let it go. There's no changing it." She raised her helm, and felt it, then, centuries worth of regrets that were held within him, agonizing over the past, while watching others fall on the battlefield. His fault. His problem, made everyone else's.

"You can't talk," she responded quietly.

"I cannot," Optimus agreed, glancing about as he gathered his thoughts, "but I can only wish for you to have a better life than I have given myself." His arms slipped from her. "Don't torture yourself like this. It would only leave you a hollow husk."

"A husk for the Matrix to inhabit," she replied quietly, "as you have feared." He nodded slowly, and she whispered, "Come here." Optimus leaned in toward her, and, grasping his shoulders for support, she pressed her lips to his neck. He groaned, and lowered his helm. She felt it then, her breath catching. She felt the loneliness and sheer agony that he felt at nearly losing her, and waiting for news of whether she would recover. "Oh, Optimus," she murmured, and kissed comfortingly along the underside of his jawline. He groaned, drawing his helm backward. She grasped it, and lowered his forehelm to hers. "It's all right," she whispered, "I'm here."

His right knee gave, and he fell to it, his arms clasped about her waist. A small sob burst forth from him.


	6. Chapter 6

I tend to display the experience of bond forging and breaking as different between each pair of Cybetronians. As Optimus and Elita left their old lives behind, and Optimus is carrying an artifact within him, the bond breaking is displayed through a vision. As for why the Constructions had appeared separately in this story, rather than as a gestalt, that will covered in a different story.

* * *

"There she is," Chromia growled softly from where she knelt, holding the binoculars to her optics, "surrounded by her own entourage."

Elita stared through the jagged portion of wall, unable to determine more information than distant silhouettes that moved back and forth in a cluster. "They look imposing, but sparse."

Firestar, crouching on Elita's opposite side, agreed, "We might be able to pull this off."

Chromia snorted. "Pull it off in what manner? Kill them? Maybe. Not sure if we'll walk out of this alive."

"See, this is why we picked you up from Praxus, Chromia. We needed the joy and the laughter," Greenlight muttered at Chromia's opposite shoulder.

Chromia lowered the binoculars to glare at her. "And what have you been doing?"

Greenlight wiped her servos, stained with grease, upon a rag. "Tinkering with a few gadgets, here and there, to help us. Lancer's got our provisions ready, if you want them."

The femmes slid off the edge of their vantage point, and quietly followed her over to the low-burning heater, its orange light casting over Lancer, who was crouched beside it with a pair of tongs. Reaching in, she slowly levered out small energon gels. "Tonight and tomorrow," she explained, "Ingest slowly to make them last."

Elita gratefully held out her servos as the tongs released, dropping the gel into her servos. Lancer's heater drew light over their bodies. She knew her knees up, and folded her arms over them. Firestar nudged Chromia, and muttered something to her. Chromia smirked, and gave a small chuckle. Greenlight quietly ate, her arm around Lancer, while Lancer took out a datapad to read an old Iaconian thriller. An echoing bang from far below rang out, jolting them slightly, and forcing them to pick up their weapons. Lancer doused the heater, and Greenlight gave a quick salute to Elita before crawling up to peak from their designated vantage point. Chromia handed off the binoculars to her along the way. The others waited quietly as Greenlight scanned over the opening before giving a nod, and crawling back down. "Just target practice," she whispered, "Looks like they don't have the same active hours as we do."

Elita nodded. "All right, we're recharging light, then. Dawn should give us an advantage. We'll strike pre-emptively. We're rotating watch, one in front, one to the rear. Greenlight, you and Firestar will be first, Greenlight fronting, Firestar checking the rear. Any questions?" Both femmes shook their helms. "As for the rest of us, we'll switch every three cycles."

Greenlight and Firestar faithfully took up their positions, while Lancer lay down, her pistol holstered, and her bolt cutter underneath one servo. Chromia lay sideways, her grenade launcher close by her arm. Elita, lying on the opposite side, met her optics. Chromia glanced away for a moment, their conversation in the bunker hanging between them. However, she swung her helm back around, and nodded at her captain before off-lining her optics.

XXXXXX

An explosion rocked the early morning air heavily, causing the Decepticons garrisoned below to scatter, and fall offline. Greenlight grinned, swinging her helm back around to stare at Elita. "That got their attention."

Elita smirked, and gestured forward. "Autobots, attack!"

The squad fanned out and plunged into the canyon, ducking behind buildings. Strika confusedly called out orders to her chares. Elita grinned in anticipation, reveling in the new-found strength and speed of her body as she loped over a few sideways pipes that were the beginning of a barricade. Seizing the top of it, she dragged herself up and over, landed heavily, and fired at the troopers in front of her.

Strika's optics blazed through the chaos at her. "It seems we have a recruit," she noted, a twinge of sarcasm in her voice. With a laugh, she declared, "Consider this your final exam!" She fired at the ground, sending debris flying over Elita, who coughed as it fell upon her, and slipped, covered in it. Strika's Gatling gun revved again as Elita arched her back to shake off the debris, too heavy to move. She marveled at her own cockiness, and how it would most likely kill her. With a grunt, she freed herself, and sped off. "Not bad, newbie!" Strika called mockingly after her.

"What were you doing?!" Chromia chided over her comm link, "You almost got yourself killed!"

"I know that!" Elita snarled, slipping back behind a wall, and hitting her servo against the butt of her rifle to knock stray pieces of metal out of it, "Watch ground-based tactics! She's flipping crowd control tactics on us!"

"Roger!" Greenlight replied through the link. Whipping about, Elita shot through the chassis of another Decepticon, and stepped slowly over the body. Strika faced away from her, and she dashed after her. Firestar's gasp over the com link stopped her captain in her tracks. Her mouth fell open as she watched Firestar's body jerk violently, torn by Strika's Gatling gun. She fell backward, lifeless, her body hanging over the half-wall behind her.

"This can't—This can't be happening!" Lancer's words punctuated Elita's confusion.

The next moment, however, she commanded, "Lancer, move! There's nothing you can do for her now!"

Lancer darted backward, and, with an angered cry, brought her tool to clash with a bladed Decepticon. Elita ran for Strika, only to groan from another Decepticon running into her from the side. The two rolled along the ground, the Decepticon, Bonecrusher, mounting her and wrapping his thick servos about her neck. She gasped for breath, her head lolling along the ground. Out of the corner of her optic, she saw Strika turning around to face her with a self-satisfied grin on her face. The next moment, however, green whipped between her and the vision, with Greenlight charging toward her.

Elita grunted and tugged on her assailant's wrists, kicking and lashing along the ground. A cry and a sickening crack of metal sounded from Strika's direction. With a guttural yell, Elita threw Bonecrusher off, and shot him. Rolling to her opposite side, her optics stretched wide.

Strika, holding a mangled, and barely conscious, Greenlight over her helm, tore the femme in two, and deposited both halves upon the ground. Lancer, her servo outstretched, collapsed before the blade-wielding Decepticon, her neck directly hitting the blade. Her body fell uselessly to the side, her helm sawed off to bounce and roll into the dust.

"Elita!" Chromia called out. She spun, her dentals gnashed. The side of Chromia's head was bleeding energon over her right optic, her launcher held tight by her as she crouched within the shadow of rubble. She nodded tightly. "Awaiting your orders!"

She narrowed her optics, and swung her rifle back around. Scuttling up beside Chromia, she gestured sharply. "At my side! Anything moves, you shoot!"

"Loud and clear!" Darting out from cover together, Elita-One and Chromia spun about, their backs to each other. They fired in opposing directions, spinning about and catching each other. Decepticons rushed at them from either side. Chromia gasped and spat as grit jammed into her intakes. Seizing the neck of a closing Decepticon, she squeezed, and collapsed the metal before throwing it to the dirt to stomp on its helm.

Elita swung her helm about at that. Chromia drew an arm across her mouth, as if daring her to lecture her on it. "It doesn't matter," she hissed, trudging past her, "Nothing will after today. You know that better than me."

"Good enough," Chromia replied, waving her arm as she charged past her, Elita close bringing up the rear.

Heat spiked, and blazed forth. Chromia caught Elita's wrist, and yanked her backward. "Flamethrower!" A pair of Decepticons, their thick frames suggesting that they had been former laborers, caught in the flames, writhed and rolled in anguish. The massive Decepticon that wielded it swung back and forth, haphazardly catching buildings and its compatriots on fire. Energon tears ran from Elita and Chromia's optics.

Strika gruffly called out orders for her underling to stop, causing Elita to spin back around. Diving sideways, she knocked Chromia out of the way as Strika's Gatling gun chopped at the air. "We'll have to split up," she decided, rolling off her, "One takes Strika, the other the flamethrower."

Chromia lifted her launcher. "One shot from this to his tank, and he won't be a problem." At Elita's surprised expression, Chromia saluted her. "It's been an honor, Captain."

"Likewise," she replied, kneeling to stand, "Don't frag this up, Chromia! You'll just get one shot!" Chromia broke into laughter behind her as she charged off.

Strika laughed as Elita darted toward her, and slipped sideways. Gasping in pain, Elita grasped her side as one of the bullets grazed her, energon falling from between her fingers. "What's the matter, scared to take me on?" Strika challenged. She grunted as Elita fired at the back of her knee, and fell to it. Elita scrambled forward, only to be hit with blunt force. Strika had spun the gun to use in her hands like a club. Flying backwards, she hit the ground, her consciousness phasing for a few moments. It burst back into painful reality as Strika's bullets tore into her armor. Elita feel utter anger with herself, realizing that she had learned ultimately nothing from her previous failure. Close, so close her squad had come to completing their objective, only to fall to the same adversary as before. Their deaths would have been for nothing. She grunted and groaned, crying out in pain as the armor protecting her protoform fell away. No, she couldn't die, not now.

A massive burst shook the ground, forcing Strika's attention from her with a gasp. Elita gasped a breath, and spat out the energon that was clogging her throat. She felt blindly along the ground. Grasping a bullet casing, she jammed it in-between her dentals, and bit down upon it to prevent from crying out in pain. Crawling aside, she rose to her pedes, and darted forward through the arch. "Come out, you coward!" Strika screamed after her. Wincing at the pain, Elita shot upward, collapsing the arch upon Strika's hulking form. The Decepticon cried out as she was buried beneath the rubble, which rumbled with her grunts and groans in an attempt to dig herself out. Elita darted the other way, and dove for the daylight.

Rolling to her side, she brought up her rifle, her breaths whistling past the casing. Just a little longer, she willed herself. Hatred burned within her as the rubble moved, Strika's grunts muffled under it. She could hear vain cries from her, and smirked at how pathetic she was. Her conversations with Firestar and Alpha Trion, as well as Optimus's request to her, felt as if they meant nothing, in that moment. This was the gladiator who was responsible for the murder of her compatriots, their energon spilled onto the ground. Strika's helm burst forth from the rubble. Facing Elita, she coughed, and gasped. Elita fired at Strika's lower jaw, causing her to whip her helm back in. Elita trudged forward, and shot her rifle into the sky in frustration. So much for Strika's self-proclaimed bravery, she thought smugly to herself, with how the former gladiator hid from her now. However, it had to end. The chase had gone on for too long. She placed her hand to her side at the sheer pain, and collapsed to the dirt on her knees, her blue spark's light illuminating the swirling dust beneath her servos.

Heavy grunting and groaning came as Strika, her back broken, and her jaw bleeding, attempted to squeeze through the opening Elita had previously slipped through, only to become stuck, her broad shoulders jamming against the sides of the hole. She grunted and groaned in frustration. Elita grinned, the spent bullet casing sticking out from between her dentals. It fell as she opened her mouth to laugh at Strika as the femme dragged herself toward her upon broken fingers. "What?" Strika demanded, her voice scratchy with static, "What is so fragging funny?!" She drew in a wheezing breath as Elita lowered her rifle to aim right at Strika's faceplate.

"Don't you know, you fool?" Elita hissed, her spark audibly humming, its blue light casting Strika in an ominous glow. "I am Ariel."

Strika's optics widened. "Imposs—" A barrage silenced her, slicing through her faceplate, and caving it inward. Metal and glass shattered and fell, energon gushing and smoke billowing as the former gladiator fell forward with a heavy groan.

Elita's rifle fell from her servos to hit the ground. Regarding Strika's corpse with disgust, she stuck out her leg, and kicked it once before turning away. Staring at Firestar's body, hanging backward over the destroyed wall, and facing her with broken optics, she whispered mournfully, "I'm so sorry." Lying sideways, and bracing her weight upon her elbow, her own energon leaking from her right side onto the ground, she sent one final transmission. "Captain Elita-One, final report over all confidential frequencies. Mission successful. Repeat, mission successful. All squad members have been terminated. Do not approach these coordinates. Area too hot." Rattling them off, she sighed heavily, and fell to her elbows. Groaning, she dragged her weight forward, her helm down, counting stone by stone as she passed them.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she choked for a moment before relenting, too tired to carry on. She collapsed next to Strika, her faceplate resting in the dirt, and the puddle of energon that had dripped from her mouth pooling about her.

XXXXXX

In the heat of battle, he felt a sharp, tearing pain in his spark. Optimus fell to his knees, a vibroblade swinging just inches past his helm to tear into his chassis. Dashing forward, Ultra Magnus smashed the assailant over the helm with his hammer, knocking him sideways. Grasping Optimus's shoulder, he exclaimed, "Prime, we have to move!"

Optimus, grasping weakly at his spark chamber, murmured in return, "I can barely…"

Ultra Magnus's optics widened, and he grasped Optimus's arm, tugging him across his shoulder. Opening his commlink, he called, "Ratchet, I need your assistance immediately!"

Optimus lowered his helm, the battle fading about him. The primes of the past whispered to him, their shadows materializing and darting across the battlefield. He groaned heavily, partly from the pain, and partly from sheer gloom. "Elita…" He muttered, his speech slurred from the pain of his wound. A prime passed close before him as the physical plane faded away.

His spark, however, granted him one final vision. He was crawling, exhausted, upon a barren battlefield, destroyed buildings and bodies strewn about. Dirt and debris blew in the wind, the sky above gray. He was dragging himself along, too tired to carry on much faster. He felt the bond beginning to fragment with each passing moment, disintegrating along with the warped setting. Lying in the middle of the utterly dead setting was a flash of violet. Scrambling along the ground, and falling a few times, he made his way over to her.

Elita-One's helm was tilted to the side. She was bleeding from the corner of her mouth. Optimus reached out a servo, and gently stroked her cheekplate. The small smile she gave was strained by pain. He could feel her agony as her life slowly bled out from her, yet he still pleaded, "Elita, tell me where you are! I'll come for you! Perhaps Ratchet—"

She sighed. "Not this time, Orion." His servo fell in shock. Breathing heavily, she continued in an utterly exhausted tone of voice, "My squad is lost, and it would stretch your forces now to come for me. We knew that this could happen."

He shook his helm, feeling so utterly weak. He couldn't even stand, much less throw her arm over his shoulder, and help her walk to find medical assistance. He didn't want to even think that perhaps she was wounded even more so in the physical realm. "Let me take your place," he begged, "Please, you've suffered enough!"

Her fingers weakly found his. "You're needed by so many. This is your life now, Optimus Prime."

"Elita—Ariel!" His fingers tightened about hers, and he buried his helm in her neck. "No, I—I won't leave you!" He wept bitterly into it, disgusted by his own helplessness. Internally, he railed against the Matrix of Leadership, the knowledge it gave him being virtually useless when put to the task of saving a life.

The fingers of her other servo brushed against his cheekplate, and slowly began push him backward. He resisted, nuzzling deeper into her neck until she gave a soft cry from the exertion. He slowly relented, and allowed her to push him backward, his weight rested upon his bent elbows as he stared down at her. Elita shook her helm, and caught a tear with her thumb. "Come on, you can't cry like this."

Grasping her servo, he lowered it between both of his. "But I failed you, as did the others who have died alongside you."

She gave a weak laugh. "You didn't fail us. I would not have stayed by your side, had I not faith in you." Optimus hesitated, and she added, "We've had many cycles between us, but I can't continue any further. You must be strong, now."

"But—I—" His breath hitched as her remaining optic began to flicker offline.

"Please," she whispered, her words fading into static, "Optimus, I…" She groaned heavily, and a fierce whirring came, as if she was forcing her body to give just a little more energy out. Her voice, however, sounded like a metallic croak. "I love you."

Optimus placed his forehelm to her servo, still held between his. "I am yours, Elita." He sighed heavily as the darkness overwhelmed him.

"He should be all right, now. I managed to stabilize him," Ratchet's voice floated to Optimus from out of the darkness, and he weakly grasped about for the familiarity of it, the extent of his motor control ending in his fingers twitching. "Hold on, I think he's waking up." Metal clanked from beside him, and when Ratchet spoke again, his voice sounded closer. "Optimus, can you hear me?"

He groaned, his finger tapping against the ground. Ratchet's sigh of relief whispered over to him. His optics flickered, and he slightly turned his helm to see Ratchet kneeling beside him. Looking down, he noted a recent welding patch had been done upon the lower right side of his chassis. "What—"

Ratchet pushed him back down. "Don't strain it! I just fixed you!"

Optimus relented, spreading his servos to indicate that he would not budge against Ratchet's commands. "What happened?" He asked again.

Pedes thumped, and Ultra Magnus knelt on the opposite side of him. "You were shot in battle, sir, as was Ironhide. We were able to recover both of you in enough time, but the skirmish was a stalemate."

Optimus gave a slight nod. "Understood. Once I am functional enough to stand again, I'll rejoin you in the strategizing. For now, Ultra Magnus, you have the lead." His first lieutenant saluted, and rose to stride off.

Optimus turned his helm to the side, and saw Ironhide, still recharging, lying not too far from him. He sighed heavily. "It can't be."

Ratchet, however, sought to draw his attention back. "Your spark rate fluctuated during the patch. The wound," he gestured at the patch, "thankfully wasn't mortal, but it had been difficult to keep you online." Knowingly, he folded his servos, and offered in a regretful tone, "You have my sincerest condolences."

"Thank you," he replied, finding himself wanting to turn his helm from Ratchet as soon as he could. His gaze falling upon Ironhide, he ordered, "Just see that he is tended to."


	7. Chapter 7

This is the final chapter on Cybertron. The remaining chapter will take place on Earth. I had reservations about having Optimus say "I'll kill him," but I wanted to show that the stress has caused him to snap.

* * *

In a reading room of the Hall of Records, the closed caskets stood quietly before Optimus, each bearing the Autobot symbol. It wasn't anything from different from what a typical leader did, but the casket in the middle bore a stark difference. He placed his servos upon it, and leaned his weight over it, a heavy sigh escaping him. The grief had not quite set in yet, though a part of him wondered if it ever would, hollow as he was now. He would be giving a eulogy to his late bondmate, as well as the others under her command. It felt surreal, and somehow wrong. She'd stood by his side since the very beginning. They had both dragged themselves up after horrific battles. What shook him so harshly was the realization that even she wasn't immortal. Optimus wasn't a fool; he knew anyone could die, and yet, a part of him had secretly desired for this not to the case for her.

Pacing past the caskets, he quietly thought of each femme sealed inside, or at least, what remained of her. Lancer's helm had never been found. Ratchet had managed to weld Greenlight's top and bottom halves back together for the funeral. Fittingly, as bondmates, she and Lancer would be buried side-by-side. Chromia's entire body had been melted down to her protoform. Ironhide had withdrawn further in on himself, choosing to say nothing on the matter. Firestar's body had been completely riddled with bullet holes. Inferno and Red Alert would miss their friend's company greatly.

What words he could say, however, he knew were never enough, though his voice had faltered over time, growing heavier with exhaustion and sorrow. He was not supposed to allow this to happen, as a great leader. His faceplate showed back at him from Elita-One's casket, and he felt shock. While sternness tended to be the common expression for him, this was more so, his expression devoid of energy, similarly to one of the corpses that lay upon the battlefield. He turned his helm, and sighed, drawing himself backward. If he considered himself to be that far gone, then everyone was lost. There was no other alternative; he had to carry on. But he forced himself to remember that empty faceplate that stared back at him. He could not fall further. Elita's final words echoed back to him as he placed his servo to his spark chamber. He had felt the sorrows of the other primes that had come before him, the losses of lovers, of friends, and of comrades, but they had been mere whispers. It had been another thing entirely to try to feel it. Cynically, however, he realized that his own loss would be nothing more than another echo.

The ghost of Orion Pax walked the corridor beside him. He wondered how his past self would have reacted to this loss. Would he have spent his time crying, or fallen to his knees beside his bondmate's casket? It didn't matter, now, he thought dismissively. The next moment, however, he reconsidered. With her dying breath, Elita had called him Orion. He was, and he was not, him. He wasn't merely another relic to be thrown away. Yet, with this death, he knew that another piece of himself had been stripped from him to lie in the casket with Elita-One.

Within the Hall of Records' basement stood a few metal tables and chairs that formed the officers' mess. Prowl, bent over a few datapads, glanced up at Optimus's descent, and greeted him with a sharp salute. Jazz, who had been leaning the wall adjacent to the table with a nearly depleted cube in his servo, straightened up and respectfully placed it down to salute him as well. Optimus acknowledged them each with a nod, and they resumed their quiet conversation.

"Hey, Prime," Ironhide greeted solemnly, his blue optics glowing ominously in the low lighting. He was slurring his words slightly, and Optimus could understand why, as he could smell the high-grade energon's heavy odor. He stopped before Ironhide, who gestured for him to sit down. Quiet conversation filtered over to them, and respectful distances were kept. Optimus allowed for his friend to take his time, and was half-compelled to imbibe, himself. He refrained, however, due to needing his mind clear to lead the funeral service.

"Hell of a day," Ironhide muttered bitterly, lowering his helm to place it in his opened servo.

"That's saying little," Optimus responded in slight agitation, a moment of his anger coming through. Ironhide raised his optics at that, but said nothing. It was difficult to find words to place together, the hollowness eating all, and rotting them out from the inside. Perhaps if Ironhide had been a different mech, Optimus would have said more, but they had known each other too well. There were, however, things he could not speak of. Holding Elita, in the form of a vision, was something he could not bring up; it was too private to the point of taboo. However, he did speak. "I am so sorry."

"For what?" Ironhide muttered, letting go of his faceplate, "It's war. You can't blame yourself for everything." He braced his chin upon the side of his servo. "Protecting Elita is what Chromia did. Protecting you is what I do. She knew the risk, and so did I." He turned his gaze toward Optimus, his optics glowing dully from the pain he was feeling, and from his leader understood all too well. "Frankly, though, it doesn't make it any easier." The high-grade energon cube glowed ominously, its intoxicating fumes rising into the air.

"If I hadn't gone before the Council, none of this would have happened," Optimus pointed out.

Ironhide waved a servo. "If you're going to stew in the past like that, then I may as well quit right now." Ironhide and Chromia had accepted death as a condition of their positions, but in a way, he assumed, they had seen themselves as invulnerable with each victory. But this threw that old mentality aside. Chromia was dead, and her loss had left a hole within Ironhide, just as Elita-One's loss had left a hole within Optimus. Ironhide took a long swig of his energon cube. Smacking his lips, he set it down heavily. Shaking his head, his optics offline, he lamented, "I just can't believe she's gone. Hadn't seen her in vorns. But to see her again like that..." He shook his helm. "I can't talk about this anymore."

Optimus respected his wishes. "Could I remain with you?"

"'Course," Ironhide replied, "I've talked your audio receptor off as is." Pedes clanked in the background, and Optimus turned his helm to watch Prowl and Jazz depart, heading up the stairs. He brought his fingers together, and cracked them.

"We considered ourselves luckier than we deserved to be, when Ariel had been saved," Optimus began, "But perhaps it also made us reckless. What disturbs me, more than much else, is how little it seems to matter now." Ironhide took a sip at that. Optimus's fist clenched upon the table. "I—I want to strip the Matrix from my spark."

Ironhide set the cube down with a decisive thump. "There's a problem with that."

"I don't quite care," he hissed, the table rattling as his fists upon it shook. "My bondmate, my love, is dead, and the grief that I feel for her is twisted and mangled within the Matrix. I'm detached, as if I have seen this too many times before. Did she take what remained of who I was with her? I don't know. But, I hate it. I hate how I am being drawn away from it all."

"Then fight back," Ironhide replied bluntly, "While I don't understand exactly what you are going through, you are Optimus Prime, not an amalgamation of bolts and a Matrix. You might not grieve Elita-One now, but you will, in your own way. What you should be more worried over is keeping yourself in check."

"In my own way?" Optimus repeated in shock, his mouth moving as he grasped for words, "I barely know what to think of myself now. I don't want to simply pull her from my databank, and think on her from time to time. I—" He buried his helm in his servos, and moaned, "Primus, I miss her!"

Ironhide sighed, and pushed the energon cube toward him. "Optimus, it's not going to get easier."

He slowly raised his helm, and placed the palm of his servo on top of it. "Save it for me. I'll need it after the funeral."

Ironhide tugged it back. "No promises." Optimus smirked, but it was soon to fall away.

XXXXXX

Ironhide's shattered optics stared emptily back at Optimus from where his body lay mangled upon the ground, and his limbs twisted several degrees about. Soundwave stared down at him from where he hung off the edge of the skeleton of a building before letting go to fall, twisting in the air to transform into his vehicle mode, and fly off. Letting out a howl of rage, Optimus dashed after him, firing his weaponry like mad. Ratchet pounced onto his back. He spun about, and cried out angrily, flailing at the additional weight until he fell to his knees. "Optimus, stop!" Ratchet snapped, shoving his helm down to look at the ground.

"Let go of me!" He snapped, twisting about, "I'll kill him—I'll—"

"You almost shot Skydive!" Ratchet snarled. Optimus gasped, and glanced up to see the Aerialbot in question, along with Fireflight and Slingshot, pursuing the retreating Decepticon spymaster. Ratchet slowly let go of him, and Optimus rose, Ironhide's body lying at his feet.

"Forgive me, I—" Optimus turned about, and Ratchet waved a servo to stop him.

"It's passed, Optimus. I'm sorry."

He spared Ironhide another glance before replying, "We must continue."


	8. Chapter 8

Arcee said, in "Con Job," that primes don't party. I respectfully disagree. I can't remember Memorial High School's mascot.

* * *

The wind whipped by Optimus's open windows. Wheeljack's reunion with Bulkhead, he figured, would probably take the entirety of the day. Rare was the occasion that he would have to explore Earth, though he would have been more eager to do so in a time of peace. However, what he could determine was that humanity and Cybertronians were becoming more closely linked, even now, with the battlefield moving to Earth. That was the last thing he wanted, for a group of innocent beings to suffer for the problems that began on Cybertron, but that seemed to be immaterial at this point. As for what it meant for the future, he was not sure, and the future seemed difficult to determine.

The lot was filled with several cars, trucks, and bikes. Restaurants and motels dotted the area around the gas stations that were closer to the highway, while much further off in the distance were collections of homes. A tiny roadside town among so many others, isolated out west. Optimus had seen older versions of them in the old cowboy films that humans had produced. Ratchet had scoffed at their simplicity, but all the same, had been interested in the character of Doc Holiday. Certainly, he could have explored human culture better through a city, but it would have been more difficult for him to leave such a densely populated area, if he had been needed.

He pulled to a stop at the rear of the truck lot. There was a gathering that was to continue after sunset, and, due to the town being close to the road, his presence would not be considered completely outlandish. He hesitated for a moment. The main issue involved with utilizing his holoform was that it would leave his real body vulnerable while he was away from it. Arcee had an easier time with her form, as her form never disembarked from her alt mode. That was let alone the fact that they didn't fully understand humans.

But, then again, this chance might not come again for a while. His own curiosity, alien to him from his days of Orion Pax, sparked within him. The holoform, carefully constructed based upon the appearance of adult males in film, slowly faded into being. Pale hands, with tufts of brown hair on the knuckles, grasped the steering wheel tightly, and squeezed it. "This," he paused, caught off guard by the smaller sound of his voice, "is quite interesting."

Reaching sideways, he fumbled with the handle of the door, his fingers slipping from it in his attempt to find purchase. It was odder still that he could feel his holoform's hand touching his own door, though the latter was fading as he drifted from his shell. Grasping it, he pulled it open. Optimus slid out of the driver's seat, and hit the ground with a thump. His dogtags clinked together as he fought to regain his balance. Reaching up, he removed the cap that sat upon his head, and studied his reflection in the driver's side mirror. Blue eyes stared back at him from beneath graying dark brown hair. His chin sported a dark brown beard. Scars caught across the skin his exposed face, neck, collarbone, and arms. Covering a flannel red shirt was an open jean jacket. His jeans were faded, and covered with spots from dirt, the threads tugging loose. Work boots, the heels chipping off, and the thick laces covered in dust, drew imprints along the dirt from him testing his footing. Pulling his left hand from his pocket, he examined it, and saw, much to the ghost of an old sadness, that a worn wedding ring was on it. The dogtgags, when he held them up for inspection, bore an acceptable human name, Aaron Paxton. He slipped them under his collar. The cap, he found, much to his amusement, had a wolf upon it, standing proudly between the words Memorial High School. He had already grown closer to the children than he had thought. Placing it back upon his head, he commenced the masquerade.

Rock n' roll music poured from the fair grounds' speakers. Vendors' stalls stood, selling confections and drinks. A nearby pool held several teens and children who splashed and bounced into it. The diving board shook as a young man did a swan dive. On the far back wall of the pool's bathing facility stood a mural, depicting exotic wildlife. A gorilla paced through thick jungle, unaware of a panther stalking it in tall grass. A black spider with a red hourglass on it hung from one branch, while a green-legged tarantula scuttled along another. A wasp buzzed through the air, while a rat tentatively poked its head out from the base of a tree. A white tiger proudly groomed itself, and a hawk soared overhead.

Groups of men drank, played cards, and milled about, smoking. Optimus hesitated, unease beginning to build within him. Let alone the fact that he would be interacting with human life on a more personal level, he was not necessarily strong in relating to strangers outside of a leadership-based role, at least at first, given the stratification of his position. However, he did also desire to try, as this would be the first chance that he would get. Within a holoform, he felt distant from the Matrix itself, his thoughts disconnecting, and growing more his own. What disturbed him about that, however, was that such thoughts felt awkward, and confused. Was this what he was, with the Matrix of Leadership stripped from him, an empty, confused shell?

At his side, he patted his pocket. Perhaps what took the most energon was generating currency to use. While his holoform could fade away, the bills could not, otherwise he would be considered a cheat. Unfortunately, that was one of the underlying costs; generating matter took too much work. He quietly took a seat at the bar, its chairs and tables spilling out into the sand, and raised his finger to signal to the bartender. Whipping his towel over his shoulder, the bartender asked him what his order would be. Optimus caught himself before answering with a favored energon drink he preferred back on Cybertron. After a slight hesitation, which caused the bartender to raise an eyebrow, he replied, "Beer."

A bottle slid over to him, and he gratefully took it after handing over his money. The conversation nearby died down, and he glanced over his shoulder at the odd stares. He made to get up from the bar, when a man's voice stopped him. "Haven't seen you around here before. You new?"

He shrugged. "Just passing through. I wanted to stop, and refuel."

"Looks like you came to the right place, then," an overweight man replied, taking a swig of his beer, "Got a name?"

"Aaron Paxton," he replied quietly.

Another man raised an eyebrow. "What's the matter, you scared?"

He shook his head. "I've just been on the road for a while." While he partly wanted to shrink backward, he corrected himself. If he wanted to close himself off, he could get back on the road, and drive for the rest of the day. Perhaps he had gotten himself into something larger than he had first expected. Whatever the case, however, he continued, "I did see a few signs along the road advertising this fair."

That got him a nod. "Yeah, we're known as a halfway town, so we get guys like you often. Part of our bread and butter here, you see." Still, what concerned him about that was the fact that it seemed as if his reaction was pointed out right away. Strange, that. He decided that he had to be careful how much he let on. Perhaps he was being sized up.

"I'm Manuel," a young man who sat closest to him introduced himself, holding out his hand over the bar. Optimus took it, and shook it once. "I'm passing through, too."

"Duke," the overweight man named himself, indicating himself with a hand, "I'm a native here." He nodded toward another man with a greasy ponytail over his shoulder, who gave an indifferent shrug. "This is Charlie."

A woman on the end, her blonde hair displaying gray strands, waved her hand to get Optimus's attention. "I'm Lucy. Charlie and I are also both from here. You play cards?"

He shook his head. "Not very well. I haven't much to gamble."

Lucy shrugged. "I'm not really that good, either. It's more something we just do for fun around here."

"I'll watch," he offered, and Lucy tugged a pack of cards from her purse.

"Fair enough, I guess. Any other takers?"

Charlie stood at that. "Might as well. I've had my eyes on that watch of yours, Duke."

Duke snorted at him. "Careful there, Charlie. I might just win your shirt off you again."

"Because you cheat, fat-ass!" He responded in annoyance, slipping off his stool, and heading over to a free table, covered in crumbs and flies. Calling out to the bartender, who tossed his towel over, Charlie began to clean it off. Lucy, leaning backward against the bar, began to shuffle the cards in her hands. Manuel helpfully began to tug a few old chairs over.

Turning to Optimus, Duke prodded, "If you're not gonna play, think you can get us a round? Cheap beer's fine."

He raised an eyebrow at Duke. "I have to pay to watch you play?"

"Just the one. We all give something for the game," he explained.

Deciding to humor him, as he would not return the next day, Optimus agreed. "On the condition that you buy me another if I ask."

"All right," Duke grumbled, leaning his elbow upon the bar in annoyance. Lucy laughed at that. While Optimus gestured for the bartender to return, Duke became curious. "Where the hell is Memorial High School?" He asked, pointing at the baseball cap perched on top of Optimus's head.

Jamming his hands in his pockets, the sunset glinting off his wedding ring, he replied with a slight smile. "It's in a small town called Jasper about thirty miles west. My nephew goes there."

"He ain't gonna turn out like his uncle, is he?" Duke joked.

With a laugh, Optimus shook his head. "His mother has him on a straight and narrow path. He'll do well."

The beers arrived. Lucy gratefully took grabbed hers, and took her place at the table, her visor casting shadows over her lined face. Duke and Optimus each took two, and joined her, Charlie sitting on his chair backward, and Manuel rocking backward in his. "Courtesy of Aaron, here," Duke declared, depositing his bottles on the table, and sliding one over to Charlie. Charlie raised his head, and gave Optimus an approving nod.

Manuel was cracking his knuckles as Optimus slid his over to him. "Watch and learn," he muttered. Optimus scooted his chair backward, out of the game, the beers having drained his money.

Lucy dealt the cards out before them as wagers were thrown in the middle, including bills, Duke's watch, an earring stud from Charlie's right ear, Manuel's choker, and her belt. "Aces are wild, two card stud," she declared as the cards floated across the table.

The sun began to sink behind the horizon, and Optimus smelled human delicacies, mostly sweet, with the sulfurous smells of fire indicating cooking. Lines began to form around the food stalls. His holoform's stomach growled, and he put a hand to it, deciding that he would need to refuel later.

"You must be cheating," Charlie groaned in annoyance as Manuel showed his hand. Getting up, he stalked away, leaving his stud lying on the table. Manuel swiped a hand over it.

"Not really," Optimus commented as Lucy drew a card, "He had his strategy written on his face."

Duke snorted. "Look who's talking. You were like a deer in the headlights at the bar."

Sheepishly, he realized that Duke was probably right, being more used to covering his face during battle. Lucy shrugged. "Probably just as well that he didn't play." She swore as Duke laid his cards out, and walked away from the table, shouting over her shoulder for him to return her cards to her after the game was over.

"What can you tell me about this town?" Optimus inquired.

"Well, let me think," Duke replied carefully, "Buxby itself is a quiet town, but the highway's loud. Out-of-towner traffic tends to disrupt things. Our high school football team's our pride and joy still, but times are changing. Used to be able to walk up and down the street all night without problems, but it's not like that now. Personally," he placed a king, face up, on the table, "I blame the kids. Spoiled little shits don't know how good they have it most of the time, so they easily forget it, and cause problems. Hell, they're probably gonna find a way to screw up a family function like this."

Optimus frowned at that. "Surely, that's not a good way to think of the young. I've had the pleasure of," he carefully reworded his statement as Duke's eyebrow slowly raised, "having a good relationship with my nephew. I'm quite impressed by him."

Duke shrugged. "Be that as it may, you might be watching him through rose-colored glasses. Aw, hell!" Manuel grinned as he laid out his hand. "You little shit!" He threw down his cards and sighed. "Oh, fine, take my watch."

Manuel shrugged. "If it means so much to you, take it back. I just wanted the money, anyway." Grumbling, Duke picked up his watch, and stalked off. Manuel glanced over his shoulder at Optimus, and cheekily added, "Maybe you're onto something there." Scooping up his winnings, he deposited them into his pockets, and put his choker back on as the last rays of the sun died off.

As the two grabbed their beers, Manuel noticed Optimus's wedding ring. "Who's the old lady?" He asked.

Optimus felt a twinge of sadness as he opened his wallet, and pulled out a photograph. It depicted a rusted swing set, standing on an old playground. The seats were hanging sideways from lack of proper maintenance. Between them was a woman with sun-darkened skin, long black hair, sporting gray strands and stirred by the wind. A hand was held up to push the stray locks behind her one ear, while the other hovered just above one of the swings' chains. She was clad in faded jeans and a pink poncho. Her blue eyes, narrowed by the sunlight, and her gaze faraway, were nonetheless striking.

Manuel whistled at the photo. "Lucky man you are, Paxton."

"Were," Optimus corrected, folding the photo, and tucking it back into his pocket, "Her name was Ellie."

Manuel's face fell. "Oh shit, I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "You didn't know."

A singer, clad in a white suit, crooned on the raised stage about his use of a love potion, while men and women slow-danced over the dance floor, a boundary circle marked by dirt. Manuel sighed in annoyance. "Oh great, it's the dance of the dead over there. Do they realize that there are younger people here?"

Optimus glanced about. "I don't see them."

Manuel shrugged. "My point. They're probably getting high behind the cars. Anyway," his tone grew irritated as he noticed Optimus beginning to sway a little to the music, "don't tell me you're finding this entertaining."

Optimus grinned, and adjusted his cap. "I suppose you didn't take me for a doo-wop man?"

Manuel snorted. "No. Country, maybe. Southern rock, probably. Doo-wop, no." His hands in his pockets, he started over toward the bonfire, where Duke, Charlie, and few others were drinking. "Go have your fun. When you're ready to put the walker away, come join us."

Optimus watched him depart, and walked over toward the edge of the stage, sitting down at one of folding chairs. A desert wind blow, rattling the lights above, throwing the shadows. Dust and dirt had gotten into everything, causing it to rise everywhere. Children drowsily sat and played on blankets. The lifeguard on duty shut the gates to the pool, and walked away, spinning his whistle by the chain about his finger.

"Hey, handsome." He glanced back to see a tall woman with long, dark hair with flecks of gray, and brown eyes standing before him. She gestured with her thumb over her shoulder. "Band's got three numbers left. Wanna make the most of them?"

Optimus cleared his throat self-consciously. "Forgive me, I'm not very good at dancing."

She shrugged. "I'm not really, either. Just haven't seen a face like yours around here before. Might make a nice story to tell my granddaughter, I guess, about some mysterious gentleman from a far-off land."

Optimus smiled at her candid tone. He extended his hand, and she pulled him to his feet to lead him to the edge of the dance floor. Slowly, he arranged his arms about her, finding the adjustment easier due to their similarity in height. When he asked, she introduced herself as Carmen Salinas. "Not originally from here," she explained, "Spanish Harlem's my hometown. I was headed for the Pacific Coast, back in '87."

"What made you change your mind?" He asked, quickly excusing himself as he stepped on her foot.

After groaning in pain and slight irritation, she replied, "Look around you. I fell in love with the desert. Worst relationship I've had, though. Don't think you wanna hear that part, though," she posited, pivoting on her heel as he spun outward. Misjudging the distance, she spun too far, and hit him in the chest. "Sorry."

"I think we're even at this point," he replied with a chuckle.

Carmen smiled, and slipped out from in front of him, winding her arms back around his waist. "Smalltown USA," she commented, "Safety and security, as far as the eye can see," she commented, her tone conveying sarcasm, "Been to the cities often?"

He caught himself before speaking of Iacon directly. "I used to live there, but I fear my experiences aren't so interesting. I spent my days in a library, and went to a bar at night."

Carmen raised an eyebrow at that. "What's a man like you doing here, then?"

"Just passing through." Optimus felt as if his stock answer was beginning to sound like a mantra.

Carmen slowly lowered her eyebrow. "My advice, keep moving. You don't want to be stuck here." She lowered her arms from him as the music slowly died down. "Guess I won't be seeing you then."

Optimus gave her hand a firm shake. "Perhaps you will." Carmen, a less than satisfied look on her face, walked away. As the band began to pack up, Optimus walked over to the folding chair, and grabbed his beer. Taking it with him, he returned to the bonfire. Manuel waved him over, the gathering about it having dwindled to five. Lucy was gone. The dancers and families were getting in their cars, and the band was carting away their instruments on rolling dollies.

"Can't hold your liquor well, can you, Paxton?" Charlie taunted.

Optimus was confused for a moment, and realized, belatedly, that they had watched his dancing. He felt embarrassed for a moment, but brushed it off. "I have two left feet, as they say," he replied simply.

"'As they say,'" another man repeated in what sounded like disgust, "What the hell, man, can you speak normal English?"

"I'm sorry?" He asked, "I thought I was."

"Let it go," another man responded, standing up and patting him on the shoulder, "Come on, he's just looking to start something." The two walked off.

"Did I do something wrong?" Optimus asked after a pause.

Manuel shook his head. "Snobs."

"Let 'em go," Duke replied, waving his arm.

A cell phone went off, and Charlie flipped his over with a sigh. "Shit, gotta go home. My old lady's wondering where I'm at."

"Thought you two were splitting?" Duke asked.

"Papers haven't been signed yet. Can't wait 'til that bitch kicks," he rose, and stalked off.

Optimus thought quietly of what Carmen had said to him, but decided against bringing it up. The remaining three drank as motors roared across the highway.

Duke stretched, and groaned. "Well, s'pose I should get going. Ain't no use prolonging it if there's nothing to do." Optimus nodded at that, and Duke, rubbing his stomach, inquired, "You gonna come back around here anytime soon, Paxton?"

Optimus shook his head. "I'll be headed south for most of my routes."

Duke grinned. "Going to Texas? Lucky you! You get all the big-tittied women!"

Optimus grinned back at him for the sake of etiquette, and Duke rose to stumble off. Manuel shook his head after him. "Anyway," he turned his head back to Optimus, "So, you're headed for Texas? My old man's from there, in El Paso. He's a full-fledged cowboy on a ranch."

"What about you?" Optimus inquired curiously.

Manuel shook his head. "Wasn't for me, too boring. Instead, I'm on my way to Vegas to become a poker dealer. It's more interesting, and I've got the opportunity to become a floor manager."

"I wish you well," he replied as Manuel took a sip of his beer, "You choose what you wish to do, rather than letting the decisions of others affect your opinion. That's admirable."

He shrugged, lowering the beer bottle. "Not admirable, it's just what we do."

Optimus shook his head. "Not everyone has that freedom. If you have it, enjoy it."

Manuel narrowed his eyes at him. "Paxton, where did you say you were from, again? You talk a little odd." Optimus grasped his dog tags to hold them up, and Manuel nodded in understanding. "Ah, that's right. Military guy. How long have you been out?"

"Five years," he shrugged, "I still wear them out of habit," raising his beer, he continued with finality, "Not something I'm particularly proud of, though."

Manuel nodded. "I can respect that." He sighed, and stood up to stretch. Scratching his back, he muttered, "It's late. I better get a room for tonight before I fall asleep out here."

"I can drive you," Optimus offered.

Manuel shook his head. "Thanks, but I'd have to come back and get my car, which would be a pain in the ass." He waved, and started off, calling over his shoulder, "Don't worry about the bonfire, the fire department will get it!"

Left alone, Optimus finished his drink in silence, and wiped at his mouth. Leaving the empty bottle to lay on its side, he stood, and rubbed the small of his back, which felt sore. He felt as if he had assumed his holoform for too long. Staring into the bonfire, he clenched his fists. For all that he had learned, there was so much more he did not know. His own ignorance astounded him. In many ways, he was just as responsible for the destruction of Cybertron as Megatron was, and now another race had been put at risk due to this war. One small fire for fun here, while he saw them burn across all Cybertron. The archives, the written works, the pride and joy of his caste, thousands of years of Cybertronian history and culture, lost. All had to be reinvented, and relearned.

But fire, he knew, also cleaned, making way for the new world. He pulled the photograph of the woman he'd named Ellie for the convenience of disguise from his pocket, and held it sideways to stare at it once more by the light of the fire. His fingers closed over it, and balled it neatly. Reaching his hand back, he cast it into the flames. It sparked, crackled, and tumbled away, to be seen no more.

How did one feel renewed, however, when one held the past within himself? What was he, now? A corpse, an amalgamation of multiple entities into one? How much of Orion remained within him, if he even did, at all? He feared that most, that perhaps Orion had died, as it chilled him to think that he was nothing more than an automaton based upon carrying out the deeds of what his creator, himself, had given him to do. Was he what Orion had seen himself as, leading a revolution alongside Megatronus? No, no it couldn't be, not like this.

He had no answers for any of this, he realized. Cybertron was gutted, with the Autobot philosophy just barely hanging on due to reduced numbers. It was not the first time that he had heard of Autobots defecting due to simply finding better opportunities, and that disturbed him more than much else. Belief in him was shaking with each defeat, and the fall of Cybertron had demoralized so many. There were several contingents of Autobots that had yet to report in. Optimus wondered at the ethical issues that would be presented by Autobots colonizing outer worlds without oversight, however nothing could be helped at this point. He wasn't even sure if he would hear back from those who were missing again.

There were too many questions being asked, too many issues presented, too little answers, and frankly, not enough time to find solutions. As a data clerk, it had been different for him, allowing him hours to ponder his philosophical dilemmas over old tomes. Now, however, with limited resources, and frequent attacks, that was out of the question. However, there did remain opportunity, as there was much that could be learned from humans. But for it to come at such a cost…He was just as culpable for the destruction of his home as Megatron had been, though in a different way, by asking too many questions. With the established system wrecked, there was little remaining foundation for a new one to be built upon. So, what now? Balkanize? He raised his head to the sky. Assimilate? He stared down at his hands. Perhaps, he realized, swallowing hard, Cybertron's core had been ripped out, in more ways than one. And, at this point, he wasn't even sure if it could be returned. What had he and Megatron done?

Turning, he strode into the darkness, his holoform slowly fading away.


End file.
